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POEMS 



HENRY SYLVESTER CORNWELL, 

FRANCIS GERRY FAIRFIELD, 

LUTHER GRANGER RIGGS, 

AND 

RUTH G. D. HAVENS. 

WITH INTRODUCTION BY 
Rev. WM. H. H. MURRAY, 



CRITICAL ANALYSES BY 



FRANCIS GERRY FAIRFIELD. 



WEST MERIDEN, COxNN. : 

Luther G. Riggs and Company. 

1875. 



S5^i 



Entered according to Act of Congress 

in the year 1875, ^Y 

LUTHER G. RIGGS AND COIMPANY, 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, 

at Washington. 



HENRY S. CORNWELL. 



As AN increasing demand exists for the col- 
2^ lect>^d poems of Dr. Cornwell— the principal 
author presented in this volume ; and as it 
has been suggested that certain ciitical not- 
ices which were published before I knew him, 
or had become a contributor to the following 
pages, might be interesting to his admirers, 1 
reproduce here a condensed conspectus of 
the articles mentioned. 

I think that it was in the summer of 1866 
tliat, lounging lazily about Stafford Springs, 
in the listless way of an August vacation, I 
fou id. one day, among my morning letters, a 
missive in a hand-writing unknown to me 
Curiously cutting the envelope, I found, with- 
out autorial note or comment, folded on a 
neatly printed sheet, a poem of thirty three 
stanzas, with tiie caption "The Land of 
Dreams; by Henry Sylvester Cornweil." 
I began to read the poem, here and there sub- 
stituliQg one word for another, to test my 
striingp.r correspondent's ear for masic, until 
a mood of enthusiasm conquered me at the 
sixth stanza, a stanza which might have been 
painted : — 

"There all strange beauties thit rapt Fancy ren- 
ders 
Enchant the sense ; from cUffs that nod around, 
White cataracts, moonstruck with golaen splen- 
dors. 

Drop down without a sound." 

The following stanzas were equally pictur- 
esquSjWith a dash of the wild and spectacular, 
which somehow suggested Dore. 

There was more about " purple highlands" 
and "drowsy sentinels of ghostly towers,"and 



IV HENRY S. CORNWELL. 

I seemed to see them pacing to and fro, like 
so many spectres of Tiic Brocken. 

It was the very luxury of dream— vast, vague, 
and with subtle whiffsi of lotus lingering about 
it; and yet it was so quietly rendered that its 
music hid to steal its way into the soul before 
I felt its beaaty, and saw the "white cataracts, 
moonstruck with goldeu splendors, "afar off in 
the night : so far off that they swam before 
my eyes and flickered like the domes of the 
mist palaces every New England boy builds in 
drizzly mornings, when the fog runs up the 
mountains ; and so it was that I reid on and 
on to the end. I have read through few poems 
of equal length at a single sittins since. The 
caption was a common one. Several of our 
best i)oets have written poems upon it, and 
yet this poem was the most shadowy ideal of 
them all. 

It had about it a sort of Alhambraic magnifi- 
cence—a Saracenic sublimity, which is unsu-5- 
ceptible of analysis, and an artistic unity the 
nioit complete the thesis has ever evoked. I 
said to myself, here is a hand with great and 
origiual mastery, but one not yet certaia 
where its own cumiing lies. Something of a 
want of suggestiveness— the method of leav- 
ing the UNSAID to the imagination of the read- 
er, seemed a deficiency in the menti-l habit of 
the writer ; for there are shades of beauty so 
fine and subtle that language is inadequate to 
grasp or represent them. Even Poe, our fin- 
est stylist and greatest master of words, was 
unable to express the inexpressible, though be 
came n-arer to it than man ever came before. 
His poems serve, nevertheless, to show that 
an artist is greatest in what he leaves 
unsaid. For true art consists in suggesting 
that which lies within the scope of ex- 
pression as to give the readers mind a lead 
towards that which Ues beyond. This is what 



HENRY S. CORNWELL. V 

gives its strange and unearthly undertone to 
a really beauiiful poem, and its strange hold 
on what men feel to be tlaeir highest real. 
Fur oui- actual lite is not our real life, and in 
every department of the fortner, the real 
man, that might have been but is not, and 

"Whose house lies leasfues from life's mad tug 

and pull, 
Within the pleasant land called beautiful," 

has within himself a profound contempt for 
the actual man. But be it remembered always 
that the real man is man's perception of the 
infinite within him, and that poetry is one way 
of perceiving this higher beautiful. After all, 
it is on the beauty side that man nestles near- 
est to the Infinite. Show me a man without 
imagination, without poetic perception, and I 
will show you a man whose very religion is sor 
did. I am glad to see Mr, Corn well herein 
has since made himself a consummate artist. 

And lest I should hereafter at some points 
convey another impression, I wish to say here 
and now, that, whether Connecticut knows it 
or not, appreciates now, or by and by, when 
the ^rave closes over him, Henry Sylvester 
CoENWELL is a great poet, head and slioul- 
ders taller in mastery of the beautiful than 
most of our younger poets whose names are 
world-known, and I frankly rank him with 
Poe and Longfellow. He is as imagi- 
native as PoH, and like hiza in some minor 
aspects of his mind, without his tricks 
and artificial shocks of passion ; and he 
has Longfellow's singular mastery of minor 
keys. He is, in. short, one of our greatest 
travelers in the Land of Dreams— a country as 
difficult of exploration as Central Africa. 

Bsing at that date a sub-editor of the Home 
Journal, under the then living Willis, I wrote 
an article for that paper, and was somewhat 



VI HENRY S. CORNWELL. 

enthusiastic ia my terms, as young writers 
are apt to be, Mr. Cornwell's later work has 
not belied my entiiusiasm. 

On my way bacli to New York, I called on 
the poet, with a curiosity to see the dreamer 
of New Loudtn, and to have some personal 
impression of a man whose poems were mag- 
netism set to music. He was saddened, 
sick, and full of strange spiritual dreams; 
bis imagination had turned inward and 
was fast developing into the wildest order of 
mysticism. Good for the poet, but very bad 
for the man. But his old clairvoyance as to 
beauty bad not suffered, and was rather a 
wider and deeper percep'.ion than before, 
and I sought by a subsequent correspondence 
to draw him trora his morbid revery, for 
madness lies that way — the madness, I 
mean, of romjiitic personality, to which all 
persons of poetic temper are more or less 
prone. 

It will never do to so far forget the Planet 
on which we move as to disregard the sng- 
gestions of the life universal, and of our in- 
terior consciousness, however ghastly mag- 
nificent they may be. Such creations are to 
true poetry but as the fantastic logic of a 
lunatic as compared with the saner processes 
of pure reason. Neglecting this rule. Hood 
frequently becomes merely odd, and Foe, 
always more or less fantastic ; and Corn well 
barely escapes a similar censure. Here, for 
instance, from a little poem entitled "Rue," 
is a strange picture, tmctmed a little with 
the weird, but not so remote as to lack power 
and pathos : — 

"And about the ebony,antique bed, 
The tapestries stirlikp robes of the dead ; 
And a ghostly breeze creeps over the floor. 
Like the sighs of those who have gone before— 



HENRY S. CORNWELL. Vll 

The sweet, white souls whose footsteps rove 
The Asphodel fields ot the Land of Love." 

It is a mere ballad of a poet whose lady- 
love sleeps out in the rain— in a grass-grown 
grave out in the rain. The most beautiful 
come to that by and by. The rain beats against 
the window panes, and sets him to dreaming 

"Of her sun sheen hair of rippled gold. 
And a carven marble so white and cold, 
Out there in the rain." 

This is simple, pathetic^ universal. Senti- 
mental, they will say who are dry beyond pos- 
sible sentiment ; and there are many, in this 
age when business is business. But let rae 
remind you, gentlemen, so dry that you crackle, 
that sentiment is the atmosphere of life. I 
have never heard a real ripple of laughter 
from a man, nor from a woman, who had out- 
lived sentiment. There is something crackl- 
mg and unreal in their laughter, just as if the 
soul had gone out of ihem — and it has. 

I take this -'Rue" to be one of the produc- 
tions of his later mood. In the first place, it 
shows a matured perception of the power of 
the left unsaid ; but in his "Ultima Thule" — 
one of his moods of rebellion against the 
limitations of art — he seems again to attempt 
the unattainable, and to wreak his soul upon 
the production of a powerful but imperfect 
series of pictures R^hich would have delighted 
CoLEBiDGE or De Quingy, He has a vision 
when the moon is high, and seems to roam 
a strange island, 

"Benighted, unconjectured, and remote, 
Tormented round by gray, tempestuous seas, 
Dim, perilous, where vessel never sailed, 
Lying beyond the confines of the world," 

He stands upon a black, basaltic crag, and 
looks down where 



via HENRY S. CORNWELL. 

Gigantic forests, rent by hurricanes, 
Tossing tlieir gaunt, gesticulating arm?, 
Like mournful skeletons to tlie pitiless heav- 
ens, 
Made awful noises anil a crashing sound, 
Forever, in that ancient solirude. 
Along the cavernous eorges and ravines, 
Where the M'inds wandered, blowing hollow 

tunes, 
A fiantic rivpr raved and whirled in foatt. 

So lookf d down, until it seemed to him the 
stars went mad. 

Some shot to outer darkness and expired : 
And some exploding into comets broke. 
And rushing- in far coruscation, streamed 
Through startled constellations influite. 
In orbits incomputable by man. 
And while I gazed with faculties entranced, 
The bui-niug mountain shook itself and yawn- 
ed— 
Disparting wide, deluging night with fire, 
And casting far across the seething sea 
Red leagues of splendor. 

There is nightmare power in those ''red 
leagues of splendor," and in the general out- 
line of the poem ; and it displays peculiar 
mastery of the manifold music of blanU 
verse, in which time.cadence and rhythm,mu8t 
compensate for the absence of rhyme. Opi- 
ate some will term imagery like this, but in 
reality it has not the slightest affinity for fan- 
tasy of ths opiate class. I have had dreams 
exactly like ' ' Ultima Thule" after taking a 
heavy dose of quinine, even to the basaltic 
cliffs and the river. 

Thus, though his temperament is mainly 
lyrical, he has added to literature specimens 
of blank verse — tinctured often with humor 
and satire, in their various moods and intona- 
tions—which indicate a mind often in har- 
mony with that of Hood; while in the free- 
dom and flexibility of his sentences he dis- 



HENRY S. CORNWELL. IX 

plays a lovo of Shelley. Yet, in the el abora- 
tion of metaphor, and the poetical " arabea- 
querie" and fretwork of ornamentation, 
there is too much of TennysoniaLlsm in 
some of his earlier writings, though he es- 
capes the powerful influence of the British 
Laureate in a much larger degree than any 
oiher of the younger American Poets, notably 
so, more thin Mr. Aldbich for instance, or 
Mr. Stoddabd. 

Hid " Phantom" and "Sunset City," both of 
which were, if I mistake not, first published 
in the Home Journal, in days when, under 
WiUis, it was the belles lettres organ of this 
country, seem to me to be { oems of truer and 
more genuine lyric impulse than "Ultima 
Thule," weird as the latter is, with sugges- 
tions of Byron's "Dream," and Campbell's 
•'Last Man." As examples of Cobnweel's 
airy and faery-like grace and fancy it is only 
necessary to allude to such poems as "The 
Sunset City," and *' The Grasshopper." 

Mr. Cornwell's true position in our litera- 
ture seems to me to be analagous to that of 
BEAin)ELA.iRE in France— one who has been 
styled the Poe of Paris, but who,nevertheless, 
did but superficially resemble Poe. He is less 
sensuous than Beaudelaire was, less artijcial 
in his phraseologies. He is sad ; but then the 
highest beauty is all that ; while his eav for 
music is so subtle that he seems to see with it. 
And withal, with the Arab's ear, he is a little 
Saracenic in the type of his imaginings. Wit- 
ness the following caprice : 

The skeleton Death came out of a tomb, 

To dance among the ^^aults ; 
And he grinned to himself at his goblin jigs. 

And frantic somersaults. 

(ii) 



X HENRY S. CORNWELL. 

But he gazed aghast at a figure of Faith, 

With a finger pointing high ; 
AnU fled to his cell ; but the statue still ' 

As steadfastly points to the sky. 

I must conclude here, and hence cannot en- 
ter into the emotional etiology of Dr. Corn- 
well's productiveness, nor into the discus- 
sion of the special mental aura represented m 
them. Many of them will live in future an- 
thologies. They are the exponents of an 
originality that has to take refuge with the 
few who are appreciative and cultured, and 
leave the groundlings to have their ears split 
with dialect stanzas, but an originality that 
will be remembered long after the present 
race of poetic flies have buzzed their season 
and gone into eternal hibernation. 

Francis Gerry Fairfield. 



CONTENTS. 



PAQE 

Henry S. Cornwell : A Critique, . iii 

Table of Contents, xi 

Dedication : Prof. T. T. Mansfield, i 

Author's Preface : H. S. Cornwell, 2 

Introduction :W. H. H. Murray, . 3 

A Critique : F. G Fairfield, 9 

HENBY S. COENWELL. 

Autumn, 28 

A Health to Connecticut, 89 

A Tiger-LUy, 116 

Amor Tyrannus, 119 

Agricola, 131 

An Autumn Flower, 223 

Autumn Leaves, 224 

By the Sea : A Memory, 61 

Before Sunnse, 215 

By and By, 510 

Caprices.— I, and IE, 54 

Christmas, 94 

Dickens, 57 

December, 251 

EulaUe, 230 

Fern from Niagara, 228 

Frost, 333 

Fog, 506 

June, 249 

Lincoln, 81 

Lotus, 214 

My Owl, 210 

Oh, Natiu:e ! Solace of my Heart, 96 

Rue, 197 



Xll CONTENTS. 

HKNBY 8. CORNWELL. PAGE 

Song of the Syrens, 36 

Spring, . ". 55 

Sea Voices, 97 

Summer Rain, , 141 

Storm and Calm, 337 

The Land of Dreams, 17 

The Fisherman's Dream, 80 

The Bee, 32 

The Bridal, 42 

To a Frog, 50 

The Prisoners of Time, 65 

The Wood Fairies, 68 

To a Grasshopper, 73 

The Two Robins, 98 

The Old Pine, «i*«iw«. • • • 105 

The White Lady, V ^!. . . . . . . . 201 

The Smiset City, 206 

The Phantom, 211 

The Haunted Hou»e, 220 

The Night-Watch, 225 

The Advent of the Mosquito, 233 

The Bachelor, 237 

The Fish-Market, 241 

To a Crab, 245 

The Old Chum, 268 

The Triumph of Love, 297 

The Kaleidoscope, 329 

Ultima Thule, 112 

Unrest, 239 

Vigil, 177 

We Two, 204 

Winter Winds, 209 

« Wmter Midnight, 231 

SONNETS. 

Haunted, 27 

Absence, 48 

ToL., 48 

Pequot Beach, 128 



CONTENTS. Xlll 

HENRY S. CORNWELL. PAGE 

Abelard, 409 

Ebb and Flow, 415 

Heloise, 424 

Columbus.— I, 1492 ; and U, 1499, 456 

Captive, 471 



FRANCIS G. FAIRFIELD. 

Dream Life and Day Life, 167 

Tbanatogamia, 169 

The King Beautiful, 193 

Broadway : A Starvation Ballad, 261 

A Ballad of Sunsets, 308 



LUTHER G. RIGGS. 

A Lesson of Life, 22 

A Dream, ^ 35 

A Memory, 49 

An Evening Revery, 62 

A Winter Scene, 86 

A Revery, 102 

Autumn Evening, 137 

A Morning Hymn, 202 

" Allie Died To-Day", 207 

As the Clouds that float at even, 227 

And they feared as they entered the cloud, 238 

A Lament, 253 

An Aspiration, 254 

A Health, 255 

A Memory, 256 

August, 259 

A Child's Evening Prayer, 290 

"And Hagar Wept," 318 

Ah Why, Sad Heart ? 334 



XIV CONTENTS. 

LUTHER G. BIGGS. PAGE 

A Psychological Poem, 335 

Asaph Merriam : In Memoriam, 335 

A Mountain Experience, 386 

A Memory, 341 

After " My Policy," 341 

Action, 352 

An Idyl Revery, 409 

A Spring Echo, 485 

Assurgency, 505 

Be True to Thy Trust, 139 

Blue Eyes, 295 

Bitter Sweet, 482 

Charity, 56 

Cloister, 123 

Constancy, 281 

Contentment, 317 

Cold, Cold is the Breast, 326 

Certain Uncertainty, 352 

Confidence, 382 

Death, 84 

Decoration, Meriden, 1874, 121 

Dear FamUy Bible, 164 

Didactics, 243 

Divine Protection, . 248 

Devotion, 343 

Don't You Hear the Echo ? 343 

Departed Faith, 376 

Despondency, 400 

Divergent, 511 

Edward Walker Hatch : In Memoriam, ... 39 

Earth's Pleasures and Hopes, 104 

Evening by the Sea, 115 

Edmund Parker : In Memoriam, 120 

Esperance, 132 

Egeta, 134 

Ever Onward, 166 

Evenmg, 222 

Ever Present, 232 

Evening, 321 



CONTENTS. XV 

LUTHEB G. BIGGS. PAGE 

Et Cetera, 349 

Earth Weary, 361 

Elodia, 375 

Fold the Patient Hands, 235 

Friendship Pure as Gold : T. T. Mansfield, 314 

Freedom's Sons, 315 

Fling Out the Starry Banner, 328 

Fleet and Faithful, 473 

God's Needy Poor, 162 

Gentleness, 334 

God Visible in Nature, 354 

Greeting, 490 

Good-By, 504 

Hope, 91 

Hope and Fear, 108 

Haste Thee to Do Good, 150 

Herself, 199 

Holiness, 361 

HeUotrope, 452 

Infidelity, 38 

I Think of Thee, 70 

"lam Not Old," 79 

In the Twilight, 110 

In Heaven There is Rest, 154 

Isabel, 157 

It Must Not Be, 336 

Immortality, 399 

It Must Be So, 495 

June, 129 

July, 179 

Julius Pratt : In Memoriam, 319 

Live for God and Humanity, 64 

Love, Light, Power, 78 

Love Thy Mother, 107 

Look Ever on the Brightest Side, 117 

Love, 153 

Life's Mystery, 159 

Love Wears a Royal Crown, 165 

Let Us Pray, 236 

Lay Her to Rest, 239 



XVI CONTENTS. 

LUTHEB G. BIGGS. PAGE 

Like Him Tliey Bore the Cross, 282 

Life's Story, 342 

Love Is Not Blind, 354 

Love's Bepose, 379 

Love's Irradiance, 380 

Love's Devotion, 384 

Laura, 519 

Music, 47 

May, 87 

My Boyhood Days, 103 

Memento, 191 

Memory-Haunted, 301 

Blutability, 349 

Monumentum .aire Perennius, 1875, 503 

Mnemonic, 518 

Nature's Truest Nobleman, 100 

Night, 125 

Night on Mount Lamentation, 155 

Not in a Marble Court, 158 

'Neath the Tombstones Gray, 2O3 

Night, 327 

Now Autumr's role is fair begun, 366 

Night-Thoughts, 448 

On the Death of an Infant, 41 

On the Sands, 72 

Our May, 75 

"Once on a Time," 85 

On a Jeweled Throne Beclining, 161 

O, for the Mistral's strong wing, 168 

Our Early Friends, 316 

Oh, Murmur Not, 345 

October 365 

O, precious Love, how sweet to think, .... 378 

Pyrus Japonica, 32 

Peaceful His Best, 101 

Plaint, 185 

Patience, 353 

Perfect Love, 384 

Paxtings, 387 

Passion, 392 



CONTElfTS. XVH 

LUTHEB a. BIGGS. PAGE 

Problem, 496 

Pretention, 499 

Resurgamus, 109 

Retrospection, 147 

Ruth Genevia Dowd, r. 213 

Re- United, .^l;^Ji'yv:, 380 

Spring Has Come, 67 

Summer, 145 

Silently the Daylight Wasteth, 284 

Sensibility, 285 

September, 305 

Silence is Always Golden, 327 

Sleep, Baby, Sleep, 834 

Small Beginnings, 350 

Sweet is the Yes, 362 

Sunshine and Shadow, 405 

She Lov^ Me Well, 406 

Two Pictures, „ 46 

The Spring-Tmae, 53 

The Rain, 56 

The Ocean SheU, 59 

The Sea. -I, and H, 63 

The Withered Flower, 67 

The Faded Rose, 69 

The Pale Moon Gleams Down Brightly, . . 72 

The Winter King, 90 

The Dymg Girl, 93 

The Penitent, 95 

The Lord's Prayer, 99 

Things I Love, 99 

The Violet, 101 

Truant May, Ill 

The Dew-Drop, 118 

The Isle of Hope 126 

The Sunset Hour, 135 

The Fugitive, 142 

The Year That 's Gone, 145 

The Dying Girl,... 148 

To a Snowdrop, 151 

(iii) 



XVIU CONTENTS. 

LUTHER G. BIGGS. PAGE 

The Majesty of Truth, 152 

There Cometh Rest, 160 

Twihght, 170 

There Never Was, 173 

'Tis Sweet to Die, 175 

To My Harp, 176 

The Home of Light, 181 

The Christian's Faith, 182 

There Came a Wind, 231 

The Bride 247 

The Wreath, 250 

The Past, 255 

'i^e Winter of the Year, 283 

ITie Broken-Hearted One, 288 

Thinking of Thee, 292 

The Christian's Txiist, 294 

To Kate M., on her Birthday, 296 

The Lily of the Valley, 313 

The Lyric Passion, 320 

To the Memory of a Revolutionary Soldier, 339 

The Lover's Reply, 850 

To a Portrait, 857 

To Carrie Beardsley Dorman, 359 

Thinking, 375 

True Friendship, 877 

This Indeed is Bliss and Sweet, 881 

The FaUen Leaf, 492 

The Primal Flowers of May, 498 

Unrequited Love, 240 

Using, not Abusing, 352 

Vain World, ,...., 106 

Violet-Time is Come, 481 

What Do Om- Tears Avail ? 77 

We Have Feet Whereby to Chmb, 80 

What Though Clouds, 88 

We May Be Happy Yet, 92 

Withered Flowers, 128 

We Shall Meet Again, 143 

Why? 149 

We Will Not Parted Be, 247 



CONTENDS. XIX 

LUTHER a. EIGGS. PAGE 

Why Breathe We Here? 270 

Wayfaring, 286 

We Are Pilgruns Journeying Aye, 334: 

Window-Love, 340 

Work, 355 

SONNETS. 

A soft breath there, a gentle wliisper here, 264 
A sweet face follows me where'er I go, . . . 265 
Ah, then the sky was blue above our head, 287 

Aftermath, 390 

Adrift, 398 

And still I sit in silence on the shore, 412 

Aarelia 421 

An Autumn Mom, 467 

An Autumn Revery, 468 

A Welcome to Spring, 483 

Alchemy, , 513 

Adella : A Brother's Tribute, 519 

Beneath the old and moss-grown bridge, .. 427 
Beaming with smiles, she by the window 

stood, 431 

Belle A. Ackley : In Memoriam, 449 

Budding Time, 467 

Come Back ! 442 

Cui Malo, 455 

Desolate, 441 

De Profundis, 442 

Dead, dead ! aod my cold heart lies with 

her there, 474 

Earth's beauty surely fades away and dies, 258 

Ecstasy, 417 

Effie, 423 

Easter, 471 

Fidelitv, 378 

Faith, 435 

Euimas 455 

Futurity, 507 

Groping, 430 

Hold Closer Stm My Trembhng Hand, .... 266 



XX CONTENTS. 

LUTHEB Q. BiaaS. PAGE 

Herdark eyes glowed, 289 

Heartless, 430 

Harvest, . . 465 

I Took Her Hand In Mine, 267 

I know, my Love, were I to die to-day, . . . 267 
I count that friendship of but little worth, 293 

I love her yet, as in days long ago, 363 

I sit beside the melancholy hearth, 363 

I knew she loved me, by the tearful token, 407 

Inconstant, 437 

In Nubibus, 445 

Infinity 520 

Love is the brightest band that binds the 

eaa-th, 388 

Long Years I 've Loved, 398 

Living Death, 449 

Lotus, 450 

My httle friend, while I ho'd fast thy hand, 291 
My Love a-dreaming sat one summer day,. 428 

Mme. Jennie Van ^ndt, 461 

Mutation, 505 

Mute, 513 

Niagara, 301 

" NoU Me Tangere," 444 

Nesting, 472 

Our paths diverge to meet no more again, 289 
Oh, she was sweeter than soft tropic wind, 293 

Oh, ever dear are summer dreams, 414 

O sweet, sweet Love, one fond, one last 

embrace, 475 

Read in Mine Eyes, Dear Love, 190 

Eegret, 437 

Re-United, 514 

So sweetly pure thou art in sacred thought, 364 

Submission, 443 

The Perfumed Seasons Softly Come and Go, 189 
The Fau-est Flower that Decks the Earth, 191 
The Hidden Pulses of My Throbbing Heart, 199 
The smibeams come but all too sadly slow, 257 
Thou Art Not Cold, 265 



CONTENTS. XXI 

LUTHER G. RIGGS. PAGE 

The Ring, 422 

This is the hour when I my vows xenew, . . 423 
The eilver sun shone through a cloudless 

sky, 425 

The flowery landscape everywhere is lair,. 439 
The theme I sing is neither new nor old, 477 

To Ida : On Her Birthday, 482 

Unto the Eealm of Best, 229 

Vulnus Immedicabile, 444 

With thoughts and vagaries antique and 

quaint, 257 

We watched the sunset at the close of day, 291 
We met by chance, one balmy day of spring, 394 
Why hath the smile gone from her blushing 

cheek? 463 

Yet glad I am that I have learned to bow,. 432 
Your Love and Mine, 436 

EPIGRAMS. 

A Precept, .346 

For thee, sweet maid, so fair and young, . . 326 

Ho-Hen Fairfax, 204 

Have You Heard the News '? 350 

I Have a Dear Little Wife, . . . .. .., ....... 71 

I would rather have (irant, . . 221 

My Heart, I Bid Thee Answer, \'.. ..... 244 

Oh, sweet and pretty is Carrie Lee, 96 

Old Saws to Wisdom Oft are Wed, 345 

Patience, 340 

Sowmg Seed, 338 

There Was a Little Man, 205 

The Grinders, 355 

RUTH G. D. HAVENS. 

A Day-Dream, 470 

A Curl, : 474 

Abnegation, 521 

A Dream, 522 

AnniverBary, 523 

Apart, 524 



XXll CONTENTS. 

EUTH a. D. HAVENS. PAGE 

Alone, 501 

A Wife's Valentine, 516 

Bitter-Sweet, 446 

Carlotta., 395 

Come, Little Bird, 404 

Christmas, 416 

Cuban Liberty, 432 

Childhood's Memories : I'o Dr. E. V. D. P., 438 

Charhe, 479 

Cora, 491 

De Prof undis, 377 

Dark Memories, 440 

Davy, 446 

I'arkness Round the Hearthstone, 453 

Found Dead, 459 

Far Away, 462 

Falling Leaves, 493 

Farewell, 494 

Freed, 523 

In the Shade of St. Michael's, Charleston, 419 

I SbaU Be Dead, 429 

I Loved Him, 447 

Jeptha and Phigenia, 508 

Kiss Me, Bless Me, 465 

L' Homme, 388 

Lifted Burdens, 401 

Lincohi, 483 

Little June, 487 

My Baby, 389 

My Mother's Prayer, 414 

Mutation, 424 

MOton, 439 

Mother, 497 

Mother, 526 

Only, 408 

On the Beach, 413 

Once Loved, 514 

Parted, 500 

Bosa Lee, 489 

Solved, 373 



CONTENTS. XXni 

SUTH G. D. HAVENS. POEMS 

Shadows, 385 

Sumter, 393 

Song of a Liie, 411 

Speak Me Fair in Death, 427 

Susau, 462 

The Last Tribute, 897 

The Rock, 402 

Transition, 403 

Threnody, 410 

Thu)k of Me, Mother, 417 

The Trinity, 425 

The Voices of Home, 452 

The Slighted Appeal, 457 

The ^' aniac's Death-Song, 469 

The Dead Past, 476 

The Baptism, 494 

Too Late, 525 

Union, 499 

When I Am Dead 521 

You Ask Me Why, 524 



OSCAR H. HARPEL. 

After Reading Whittier's " Chicago," 188 

Arab Joe : A Lyric of the Street, 303 

At Christmas, 360 

Cljrtie : A Sea-Shore Idyl, 358 

Elinor, 374 

Faithless, 183 

God Help the Poor, 184 

Glanore, 348 

Genevra, 348 

In God's Temple, 172 

Love's Quest, 196 

Remembiance, 260 

Mother, 322 

Morning and Evening, 383 

October Days, 323 

Schuylkill Water, 369 



XXIV CONTENTS. 

OSCAR H. HABPEL. POEMS 

Sweet "Visions of Home, 391 

The Twenty-Third Psalm, 356 

The Dfumn, 396 

The Better Days to Come, 478 

When I Am Old, 386 



HELEN M. COOKE. 

Alice : To Mr. and Mrs. Luther G. Riggs,. 477 

iNJy Reason, 478 

Nine Years Old To-Day, 500 

Suggested by a Picture, 486 



WILLIAM ROSS WALLACE. 

Eternity's Bell, . . 205 

N. G. HASTINGS. 

A Dead Life, 208 

OSCAR F. HEWITT. 

Waiting, 306 

D. HENRY WALKER. 

The Initials, 338 

THEODORE F. HAVENS. 

The Mission of the Snow, 372 

EMMA M. ATWATER. 
In the Wood, 515 



TO Tviv Best friend, 

PROF. T. T, MANSFIELD, 

*S TENOeRJ-Y DEDIOATED, 
BY 

THE EDITOR, 



(0 



AUTHORS PREFACE, 



I OFFER these Poems of mine to the 
Public, with the confidence that they 
will be enjoyed by all true lovers of art 
and of nature. Their composition has 
been to me a labor of love, and has 
engaged some of the best hours of my 
life. Standing ou whatever merit they 
possess, they neither solicit indulgence, 
or fear intelligent criticism. As many 
of them enjoyed considerable reputation 
upon their appearance in the various 
journals in which they were first pub- 
lished, it is hoped that they will not 
be less acceptable in their present col- 
lected form. 

HENRY S. CORNWELL. 

New London, Ct., Aug. 24, 1874. 



INTRODUCTORY 

TO THE 

POEMS 

OF 



A Poem is a gift to the world. As 
with a violin or a flute, the maker of it 
bas made \oy possible to many, and ad- 
ded to human happiness. Prose teaches, 
persuades, convinces, and impels; but 
Poetry refines, exalts, and elevates. 
Like its twin sister. Music, it assuages 
the sorrows and softens the hardships of 
life, while at the same time it transports 
us from the lower to the higher ranges 
of tliought, and lilts us as with wings by 
easy and delighful transition, ^lom the 



4 INTRODUCTION. 

ordinary to what is extraordinary in 
emotion and experience. Tlie poetic 
mood, in whatever form it expresses 
itself, is inalienably allied to that which 
is finest and best in human nature. 
Whoever writes a true poem, has thereby 
become the author of a Beatitude. And 
whoever reads it, shares in the s^veetness 
of the blessing. 

The Greeks, who in their highest 
moods were ever tunefu', studied how 
to best express their gratitude and ad- 
miration of their poets. The garland 
and wreath, the bcstowment of m>)ney, 
and what is dearer still to human nature, 
public applause, were all employed to 
encourage and reward those who minis- 
tered to the joy and elevation of the 
nation. They were right. A poet is a 
gift to a nation, a gift to mankind. Their 
works are a perpetual teacher and in- 
spirer of noble and needed impulses, to 
a pepolft and the race. 



INTRODUCTION. 5 

In a country like ours, where almost 
everything is crude^where, from the 
necessities of our position, and incipient 
civilization, the great bulk of our labor 
and our thought also, is materialistic; 
where the strength and energy of the 
national mind are inevitablj- turned earth- 
ward, poery and music, and all the finer 
and more spiritual forces, are to be 
regarded not as ministering to our pleas- 
ure alone, but to our salvation as well. 
The materialistic alone cannot endure. 
The economy of God over men, is too 
fine to allow it to last. Whatever is 
sordid, whatever is baee, whatever is of 
the earth, earthy, abides but for a season. 
Only the high, the purs, the refined, 
continues. You cannot, by puttiug it 
into any form, or by fashioning it into 
any shape whatsoever, ennob'e matter 
with immoitality. Thought alone sur- 
vives. In it there is no bligh% no de- 
cay, no tomb ; a- d when thought is set 
to a sweet tune — when it is put iuto 



6 INTRODUCTION. 

noble speech — above all, when wann 
from the poet's heart, it is breathed forth 
in melodions rhyUim — it has taken to 
itelf an additional security aga.nst de- 
struction, and been e'lrolled in the order 
and rank of influences that never die. 
A true poem has wings. It flies abroad 
until in its flight it has drawn its belt of 
blessing around the wor'd. The various 
languages of men are only so many 
perches troiii which it launches forth for 
new and further flight Like those an- 
gels that serve day and night before 
Gc^, its v\rinj;8 never tire, and the service 
it performs never ends. Like light, its 
beneficence is over and unto all ; and 
like light ah-o, its luminous influence is 
never extinguished. 

We have been honored by the author of 
this vo'ume, by a reqiiest that we would 
preface its contents with an " Introduc- 
tion." We must, decline. A collect on 
of Poems need no more to be introduced 
to people, than a group of children. 



INTRODUCTION. ^ 

Their bright faces introduce them. They 
SiTid children — and being such, can they 
not come into our presence when tiiey 
please ! A child introduces herself at 
sight. It IS the same with po»-.ms. They 
need no formal introduction — they in- 
troduce themselves. Whoever reads them 
knows them, takes tliem to his heart, 
and loves them. They become his by 
adoption. 

I pause, therefore, at the point where 
I was just ready to begin. The poems of 
my friend are here. You will know 
them at eight. They vary in disposition. 
Some sing, some laugh, some weep. 
You will sing with them, laugh with 
them, and be touched by their grief. 

W. H. H. MURRAY. 

Boston, Mass., Aug. 20, 1874. 



LUTHER 0. RIGGS. 



,. ' As a poet, Mr. Rioas sings for the eame 
reason that the birds sing, and for the same 
reason that nature expresses herself in impal- 
pable music— because it is in him and he must. 
Hence, his poems are fresh, vivid, and vital — 
bubbling up like springs fiom the subjective 
currents of an inner life full of rhythmical 
forces. In these respects he is a kind of 
Burns of Connecticut, in whose song you hear 
the breezes blow, the winds whistle, .aM'&igl* 
among reeds and oHiers^bt'^tt'in^i'gln 6f kW^ 
river, and ^m QM^efe mk ^ 'm^mm^hs^ \mM^ 
UWe M^dtthfi^V ■ '-lt^a«# a^gp'Jiiid^ i&^S«itali 'fb'iP 
iti^^lw%^M-€> •tbat'eidpr^fied: itself 'i'tPttie miU 
sm Bttiod^<!)f^#iv\iitf' gtA4'^^a^t?&V OV<ii?*tliM 
M'te-i^fid^i^6b'tfe %[ht1'%OGd<^*'^<}dH«g'of^t^ tiei? 



lO MrSCELLANEOUS POEMS, 

muBt, for that wkicli lies within the terrible 
silences of growing and decaying. It is the 
doom of every poet to find a weird and psycho- 
logical aspect in those facts of life that to 
other men are simply dry facts, without inner 
signiiieahce; — and there in. hence, no high 
poetic gift without its burden of supernatural, 
its sulk and brood of the gaunt, gray shadows. 
To.: tha. ti-uo. poet, life is a Golgotha and a 
Gethsemane in (me. His cross he must bear ; 
well for him if he bear it unmuiinuringly ! 

Aa ito fame, it is a bubble the poet blows 
from hia penny pipe— all the colors of the 
rainbow to-day*: dissolved into nothing to- 
morrow. But the poet must i>ersue it, jack o' 
lantern tlio ugh it is. There is that in his soul 
that pre-detei-mines him to blow bubbles with 
a penny pipe. It was so with Pan no doubt, 
and it was iucontestably so with Pindar, 
though he made his songs pay pretty well af- 
ter all, particularly when he became piper to 
King Hiero. Now, the Hiero of the modern 
Pindar ia the pubhsher, with his elegant pri- 
vate office and his magnifteent appurtenances 
of all sorts, to whom he would fain become 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. II 

piper at a price ; aud it is the price that re- 
duces the piping to the coiumon level of com- 
mercial vulgarity. 

It is worth the while, therefore, to encour- 
age the cresceuce of local poetry, far removed 
from the vulgariziug atmosphere of great 
commercial centres. Trade, sooner or later, 
reduces the beautiful to the level of dollars 
aud cents, aud retails it by the yard like a 
calico print. So it is at this moment with 
painting and sculpture. So it is with all poetry 
and poets upon which and whom the sirocco 
of trade has once blown. If Mr. Higgs will 
but follow his bent and not pi;?e to King Hiero. 
he may live hereafter. See, then, the dilemma 
of the ])oet of the nineteenth century ; he 
must, like the sturdy apostle, die daily, if he 
would be remembered aud rememberable. 

I imagine from a peiusal of many a waif 
blown from tlie Lesbian Hute of Mr. Eiggs— 
a Htrange juxtaposition this of the classical and 
the modern ! — that with him poetiy is a pas- 
sion, not a profession. It was so with Po(^ ; it 
is HO with all who write really great poems ; 
for there is that in a true i^oem that no dv' 



12 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

studies of rh\'thmic art can compass. The 
way to the beautiful lies by the route of rev- 
erie rather than by that of rhetoric ; and the 
wondrous fretwork of Tennyson is poor in 
imagination, when compared with the dreamy 
simpUcity of Coleridge or with Shelley's shift- 
ing and manifold music. In other terms, a 
great poem is first hved over and over again in 
the inner life, then written. Like Alph the 
sacred river, in Coleridge's wonderful ballad. 
it runs throxigh caverns measureless to man, 
down to a silent sea, but has its day of sing- 
ing along through meadow-lands. Thus, a 
poem is born in the innermost recesses of the 
poet's soul, of suffering it may be, of passion 
it may be, and grows up into beauty, drawing 
its nutrition from the sweetest and rarest in 
his nature. To-day it is a bud imprisoned in 
many folds of green calyx, odorless and hav- 
ing no loveliness. To-morrow it blossoms gor- 
geously , but men who see it take no note how 
long it was growing and how profoundly it ex- 
presses the highest that there is in a human 
life. Deal tenderly, therefore, O, men of the 
world, •^yith the poet ; lor in expressing the 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I3 

beauty there is in him, though feebly perhaps, 
he expresses the beauty there is in you, which 
else would never be expressed. 

Let him sulk and brood, so long as his 
sulking and brooding brings forth beauty ; for 
the beautiful that lies latent in all souls — even 
in thine, O, Jacob Stock, the moneyed man ! — 
finds blosfom in him. There is danger, to bo 
sure, that he may turn himself into a mere 
mill for grinding out rhymes or for building 
castles in the air of Whitman bombast ; but 
even then his work is beauty perverted, and, 
therefore, preferable to non-expression. It is 
better to talk haltingly than to be dumb, for 
with dumbness comes, by and by, deafness. 

Mr. RiGGs sings because it is in him, and 
sing he must— not for cash in hand, but from 
fullness of music. His melodies have thus a 
kind of picturesqueness that suggests the an - 
tique, and that without tension of the meta- 
phors — a defect so common in the poets of 
to-day. He has, moreover, never stultified his 
art by trjing to train it to the conventional 
(and contemptible) standard of the magazines, 
which demand a speciea of poetic journalism. 



14 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Like Jean lugolow, he writes naturally and 
steers clear of the conventional myaticiam 
that BoHton borrowed from the Germnn and 
miscalled imagination. But what is im:'gin«- 
t :)n, except the percei)tion of the beauti- 
ful that whall be, in the beautiful that is, con- 
joined to the faculty growing out of that per- 
ception '; The wild, tlio weird, and the mystical, 
are but qualities incident to in' omplete per- 
ception of beauty. Whose insight is perfect 
is free, natural, and spontaneous in his art : and 
this insight, be it known, is instinctive, not 
rational. The utmost length of intellectual 
analysis can not co uprehe id the beautiful. 
The aui-a in which he simplest ballad often 
swim'?, like an elf in its own atmosphero, 
tniiiscends and baffles citicism So it is with 
the "Haunt d I'alitcc," witli "Annabel Lee,", 
with the '•Ancient Mari: ©r," with ujany a bal- 
lid of Shelley's. A delicate nare sulks and 
broods over the body of tlie poem, suffusing 
it with sweelness and light. Hence, the high- 
est in poet'c art is full of repose -the soft 
and reverie-lik© repose of mooiiligbt falling 
on waving wastes of woodland. Dis;trust that 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I5 

art tliat showa you dreary levels of shore, 
with Bkeleton Lands here and there protrud- 
ing from the sand. Tbougli eti iking, ir is not 
imaginative ; and tbi* 1 must say, regardless 
of the modern habit ot mi-taking morbidness 
aMd its rhapsodies for imagination. In tiie 
poems of Mr. Rioos I find eomething whole- 
somely beautiful — .-omething that translates 
the tinkling of the rivulet into song and appro- 
priates it to human feeling. This is imagina- 
tion in one of its purely a' tistic attitudes. It 
18 easy to st irtle and confound : paradoxes 
have an explosive way of dsing that. It is 
diflScult to iiwake'i and control the emotions, 
without shoe's and thrills j and t!)is is the 
domain of the higher poetic raa^^ttTy, for 
which Mr Rioas seems to me to struggle hon- 
estly and bravely— wih what success the 
world will be better ab'e to estimate by and by. 
When po«ts die they but begin to live, for art 
has a strange way of rising from the dead. 

With his fpontaniety great progress is pos- 
sible, and, situated in life as he is, le need 
not wax weak and feeble by making poe'ry a 



1 6 MISCELLAXEOUS POEMS. 

b isiness by wh cb to turn a peuny. 1 look, 
therefore, to the day when he shall produce 
something bigher and more unworldly thau 
he has yet done. 

FRANCIS GERRY FAIRFIELD. 

Stafi'ord Sprin-s, Ct., Aug. 10. lS7i. 



POEMS. 



THE LAND OF DREAMS. 

There is a Land no mortal chart hath noted, 
Lying remote, — a sunset Land of Ease, — . 
Whereto the vo.vager is eoftly floated. 
Across Lethean seas. 

It is a region over whose existence 

The shades of doubt and disbelief are cast ; 
A Realm that lies, obscured by night and 
distance. 
Vague, visionary, vast. 

Whereof I haste to bring, O friends and 

strangers ! 
Some brief account ; for I am travel-worn ? 
But lately reaching, after many dangers, 
The margins of the morn. 

The mountains lift their summits, dim and 
hoary, 
In melancholy grandeur, far away ; 
And all things wear a pale and languid glory, 
Unknown to brazen day. 

There ancient Night, her starry rule sus- 
taining, 
Sways her mild sceptre over sea and land ; 
Amid her royal court serenely reigning, 
With Peace at her right hand ; 
3 



l8 MISCELLANEOUS POEM^J. 

And Sleep, her slave, dusky and huge ss 
Dagon, 
Before her, prone and powerless as the dead. 
One arm dtill rouad his purple stained flagon, 
Aud one beneath his head. 

There all strange beauties that rapt Fancy 
renders, 
Enchant the sense : from cliffs that nod 
around, 
Wliile cataracts, moonstruck with golden 
splendors. 
Drop down without a sound ; 

Still meadows, where nocturnal blooms are 
growing, 
Languid with love, lie lapt in slumbrous 
calm, 
Wooed by enamored winds so faintly blowing 
From groves of drooping palm. 

By winding creek and sedgy-margined river, 
The heavy-headed poppies doze, and doze ; 
Narcotic sweetness fills the air forever, 
And all things love repose. 

And round the land a mighty wall arises, 

Upon whose gates eternal starlight gleams, 
Showing a legend with antique devices 

Inwrought : The Land of Dreams. 

And by the portals wait a motley legion, 
Who lead you onward through delightful 
bowers. 
Into the fair recesses of the region. 
To beds of lotus flowers. 

Then music rises, silver-cadenced, holy ; 

What time on elfin instruments they play 
Some low and Lydian melody, that slowly 
Steals Sorrow's soul away. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I9 

Or else you skim lone lakes in wizard barges, 
By slow and measured motion borne along, 
And hear at intervals, blown from the margeSj 
The Fairies' choral song. 

There all night long, upon the purple high- 
lands, 
The drowsy sentinels of ghostly towers 
Call to each other, in the starry silence, 
The measure of the hours. 

But by no swing of rhyme may I endeavor 
The music of those mellow bells to show. 
Which to those sleepy-sounding voices ever 
Did chime responses low ; 

Most like that delicate and airy ringing. 

Of which the bulbul-hearted Hafiz tells. 
When, with the zephyr's fluctuation swingings 
The lihes shake their bells. 

There clear reflections of the days departed, 

Like weird auroras, flush the silent sky, 
And phantoms of the lost, the tender-hearted, 
Embrace us lovingly. 

There haggard Anguish peacefully reposes, 

And darling arms unhappy Love enfold, 
Despair lies down upon a bed of roees, 
And Penury wades in gold. 

The mother feels again upon her bosom 

The tender pressure of her darling's head, 
And clasps a shade of that transplanted blos- 
som, 
By angels coveted. 

Heaven opens awful on the Christian's vision. 
He fears, and sees, with half-suspended 
breath, 
Hie white-robed Elders,and the palms Elysian, 
And j£8us conquering Deatli ! 



20 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

The maiden mourniDg for her shipwrecked 
lover, 
While on the pictured Past her fancy dwells. 
Beholds once more his image bend above her. 
And hears her marriage bells ! 

Yea, with whatever of desire or passion 

The pi'grim walks this mystic laud, he sees 
His thoughts take shape, and counterfeit the 
fashion 
f strict realities. 

But on the left there lies a valley lonely, 
Wherein is naught of quiet or delight ; 
Hauuted by Shapes that love the darkness 
only, 
And terrify the night. 

There screams the horned owl from cavea 
abysmal, 
The vampyre' broods, and night- winds moan 
"alway, 
And the blank moon makes desolation dismal 
With her distracted ray. 

Bewarp, beware ! for hideous and gigantic 

Are they who there in dreadful ambush lie ; 
A goblin crew ! most merciless and frantic, 
Whose names are Incubi. 

They seize the vagrant in these paths of error, 
Bind him, and sit like lead upon his breast, 
And giin and glower on his speechless terror, 
And motionless unrest. 

In breathless .swoons he sinks, and dizzy 
trances, 
Or hears his death announced from room to 
room, 
While ever in his dim brain grows and dancea 
Some visionary doom. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 21 

Fear ehrieks withiu him, but his tongue re- 
fuses 
Translation of the thunder- thoughts that 
roll 
To silent lips : his limbs forget their uses, 
And hope forsakes his soul. 

Here also bide those baleful Sprites that 
sprinkle 
Malarious dews on night-belated m^^n, 
And Imps malign whose phosphor-lanterns 
twinkle 
O'er many a fatal fen. 

Ah. venture not upon tho^e region's ehasmal ! 
Those haunts of horror— that unholy ground! 
I doubt if eights so ghastly and phantasmal 
May otherwhere b© found. 

Such is the Kingdom, over whose existence 
The brooding shades of mortal doubt are 
ca;5t ; 
Such is the Realm that, dim with night and 
distance, 
Lies unexplored and vast. 

Wherefore I come among yea, friends and 

strangers I 
Adventurefui, and somewhat travel-worn ; 
Returning, by a route beset with dangers. 
Unto the coasts of morn ; 

Whereon I find Ihe ma2;ic spell is broken, 

And skilful fiction all the record seems ; 
Aud Memory holds the solitary token 
Of the dim Land of Dreams. 

H. S C. 



22 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



A LESSON OF LIFE. 

Hour follows hour, 
On Life's great tide ! From rest we go to t'>il; 
A portion have in trouble and turmoil, 

While the ekios lower. 

Day succeeds day ! 
The busy marts of trade we throng and crowd; 
In stately halls, in fierce debate, are loud— 

But how few pray I 

Year follows year, 
And chafes Time on wind or ebbing tide ; 
On emerald wave, o'er jasper seas, we glide, 

Till Death draws near. 

The smiling Morn 
Throws o'er the earth her robe of mottled 

gold; 
Its gorgeous hues scarce nature doth en- 
fold, 
Ere Night is born 1 

And what is life ? 
With pleasant promises it doth begin, 
But ends in guile, and sufifering, and sin, 

And bitter strife! 

Its record read : 
Ptript of the sophistries that round it lies. 
'T is pain and sorrow -falsehood in disguise, 

And death's foul greed ! 

Humanity, 
Life has one grand, strong semblance, in its 

gloom — 
Eesolv'd"'at last into one mighty tomb 

For you aud me ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 23 

The Past espy ! 
Its feelings, fancies, hopes, haunt life's do- 
main ; 
Unburied lies its restless ghost ; agaia 

I hear it sigh ! 

O ! grim, gaunt Past ! 
Thou swall'st up our better, purer years !— 
Dear Love, sweet Hope, bright Joy, lie bath'd 
in tears— 

Thine own at last I 

Our history 
Is briefly told: Labor, and care, and strife, 
Completes the constant chronicle of life — 

And then we die ! 

A glamour bright 
Reflects from gems bestud some palace o'er. 
Or gleams from glitt'ring gold in miser's 
store — 

Then all is night ! 

On Jesus' breast. 
When Death doth raise my soul above earth'd 

clod, 
And gloiified, I kis-^ the skirts of God, 

0, let me rest! 

When I am dead, * 

Will any eye for mo be red with weeping ? 
Will any heart sweet memories be keeping, 

Above my head ? 

Beyond the skies, 
Our life's grand river, in its mighty flowing 
Beside the banks where deathless flowers 
are blowing, 

Fill Paradise ! 



24 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Is Life a river, 
With waters deep, and cuirent strong and 

wide ? 
Let uoble actions bridge it, side to side. 

To stand forever. 

We lift our eyes 
Unto the saintly realm of ransom'd souls, 
Where Mercy'ss flood restless ever rolls, 

And nothing dies. 

O, bright hours golden ! 
Ye fly 80 swiftly on Time's fleeting wing, 
To balmy regions of Eternal Spring, 

We are beholden I 

Dreams of content ! 
Ah ! visions of the shrouded dead arise ; 
And to the heart leap in a strange surprise, 
The years misspent ! 

The dearest blessing 
Is that which conies from the true heart's 

sweet smile ; 
When the soul grieves, naught will so quick 
beguile 
As love's caressing. 

Love's glow-worm fire 
Illumes £fs blight the cottage as the castle ; 
Though gems and jewels, Fancy's eye may 
dazzle, 

Or brides attire. 

O. agony I 
When the beart learns that vows, in low words 

spoken, 
Transparent are as glass— as careless broken! 

Then it must sigh ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 25 

Like stainless glass 
So be your heart, where fleeting outward 

graces 
Lend beauty, aud behind leave no dim traces 

As they pass. 

Patience possess ! 
A purpose high once form'd, then fast pur- 
sue it; 
Though dispossessed, or downcast, still cling 
toit!— 
The end will bless. 

Never repine ! 
For lovelier hues than flowery April wreathes, 
Will deck the golden Autumn's gorgeous 



In God's good time ! 

If sorrow come. 
Resist it not— nor weakly to it yield ; 
See the bright rainbow, high in heaven's field, 

Lighting thee Home ! 

Pure bliss would'st see ? — 
On which nor guile nor meanness dare 

intrude ; 
Bliss freighted with the dearest, holiest good — 

Conscience, the key ! 

Content is blest ! 
O ! flearch not out the Empire of the Mind 1 
On BuUen throne apart from all its kind. 

Sits sad Unrest ! 

In Peace abide ! 
The lilies fair their heads to others bend ; 
The tiger fierce doth not its brother rend ! — 

And earth is wide I 
4 



26 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

This hope be thine, 

To shun deceit, however fair the guiee ; 

The pure heart speaks from out unblushing 
eyes- 
Truth is divine ! 

Walk in Truth's light: 
Sold up thy head, in manly deed, so high 
That shrinking meanness aare not meet thine 
eye. 

Truthful and bright ! 

Make Right your cause 1 
Let its defense your manliest powers engage ; 
A Giant be when war 'gainst Wrong you wage, 

And keep His laws. 

Uphold the Right ! 

Put on strong armor, and defend the weak ; 

The fallen raise ; be valiant, humble, meek- 
Walk ia Chbist's hght. 

Ne'er make vain boast ; 
Great deeds, not words, the truer manhood 

tell ; 
A temper curb'd, a tongue that's guarded well, 

Honors thee most. 

Heed not Pride's call ! 
Love, Hope, Ambition ! — all are perishing I 
A few fair flowers upon man's casket ing — 

Corruption all ! 

Act well your part ! 
Shun the delusions of the false, vain earth ; 
Nor rank nor wit -but only sterling worth. 

Makes rich the heart. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 27 

Open your door 
tJuto the poor, and dry their fearful eyes ; 
Angels we read, to man, in meek disguise 

Have come before. 

Be free to give ; 
Bll Charity at home bat briefly tarry ; 
Kind words, good cheer, bread to the hun= 
gerd carry— 

Thus did Christ live ! 

Tax friendship light ; — 
Bear of life's burthen all the weight you Can ; 
So proud he stands, the self-reliant man, 

A princely sight ! 

Nor question Fate ! 
Accepting the Great Captain's high command. 
Your ship will safely make the Promi-:ed Land, 

Or soon, or late. l. g. b, 



HAUNTED. 

Oft in the hollow silence of the night 

'i here comes a tapping at my window pane — 
A low, dead sound that chills me with affright, 

And ere I s'eep I hear it twice again. 

You tell me 't is the sweeping of the rain 
Against the gable, or the phantom wind, 

Whistling a dead march to the shuddering 
blind. 
Rats in the casement, or the creaking vane. 

Unreasonable reasons all ! I find 

In them no solace for a tortured mind ! 
Come to my room. Ay, me ! you hear it now ! 
This is no wind to shake a crazy bough. 

But some poor ghost whose troubled bosom 
holds 

Some dreadful secret of these lonely wolds ! 

H. s C- 



28 MISCELLANEOUS POEMSa 



AUTUMN. 

Beabino the Bhining sicBle in hie hand. 
And crowned with chapleta of tlie nodding 
wheat, 
Autumn, the Beaper, stalks along ths land, 
With drifts of dead leavos blown about his 
feet. 

The scarlet glories that enrobe the woods, 
Witch-voices haunting groves of ash and 
elm ; 
Inverted skies that float in glassy floods, 
Make the wide landscape an enchanted 
realm ! 

No more is heard the reaper's ringing blade. 

Nu more the blackbird whistles in the 
sedge, 
No more the crimson-fingered village maid, 

Seeks the wild fruitage of the berry hedge ; 

But from the hills the smiles of Summer die, 
And trailing vapors hang in dismal shrouds, 

And swiftly through the blue fields of the' sky 
The Winds, like shepherds, drive the fleecy 
clouds. 

Now comes the mellow Indian Summer time. 
When wold and woodland, stretching far 
and fair. 

In panoramic splendor lie sublime. 
And waver in the illuminated air ! 

November seems with golden Jane to join, 
And from the morning windows, ice-em- 
bos&ed, 

The airies of the warm west wind purloin 
The silver pictures of the artist. Froat I 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 29 

As some sad lover, touched wi'h soft regret, 
Pauses, remembering all his lady's charms ; 

Then chides the weakness that can Dot forget, 
Then turns again to seek her happy arms ; 

So the weak Year, too foolish and too fond. 
Reverses his slow steps and t>ackward goes, 

Irresolute to break so sweet a bond, 
And leave aukist the summer's latest rose ! 

Caught by unequal gasts, the vane on high 
From point to point perpetually swings ; 

And like soiie giant fowl that strives to fly. 
The windmill flutters its enormous wings ! 

In orcharcls heaped with fruit the ragged trees 
Sigh hoarsely each to each with windy words; 

And toss their bare arms to the fliful breeze. 
Like fi antic misers loth to lose their hoard?. 

The russet fields, resigning to the flail 

Their golden sheaves, are yet not all bereft ; 
For here and there, drab drest, the qiaker 
quail. 
Like gleaning Rijth, secures what man has 
left. 

But more suspicious, the marauding crow 
Still eyes the sentry effigy askance, 

That gaards its post through all the storms 
that blow, 
And swings and spins as in an elfin dance ! 

By lonely lakes and marshy bottomed vales 
The waterfowl assemble ni^^ht by night, 

Till all the covey, warned by colder gales. 
Trails to the south ;ts long loquacious flight, 

In countl 83 tribes that b'ur the harvest moon, 
And make the heavens clamorous as they go; 



30 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 

Haply if ere they reach some fair la70on, 
No sportsman's tube shall lay their leader 
low! 

For now the Pilgrim festival is near, 

A' hen all the varicus crop is safely stored— 

Honored Thank sgiviuar, to New England deir, 
When fowl, or wild or tame, controls th« 
board ! 

Once more around the old familiar hearth 
The household draws, and tuneful voi.es 
ring— 

And annual games well worn and rustic mirth 
Swell high the honors of the Harvest King ! 

Yet even while we pledge his jovial reign, 
Our gayest songs are saddened in their tone; 

And a new Ruler, with his boisterous train, 
Usur[)s the Realtn and climbs into the throne. 

And all too soon the bounty-dropping star 
Dips tow.ird the darkened verge and sinks 
helow, 
And o'er the waste white Winter's clattering 
car 
Approaches swift, whirled in a cl ud of 
snow! H. s. 0. 



THE FISHERMAN'S DUE AM. 

The silent-footed midnight, sad and slow, 

Moved westward, muffl id iu her dujky robe, 
Like some proud queen, exiled and full of wo, 
And weeping round the globe. 

I heard the mnrmm-s of the tumbling streams. 
Far off and low, that droned a dreamy tune; 
I wandered clown the purple vale of dreams, 
B ■n'-ath the summer moon. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 3I 

And softly to my open casement came 

S^reeps of weird music, wafted from the sea. 
Enticing voices seemed to call my name, 
And winds to talk to me. 

"O, mortal toiler, come"! they seemed to say, 

Lament m longer for thy ead estate ; 
Arise and trim thy sail, and come away, 
And triumph over fate. 

Gay dwellers in the Happy Isles are we. 

Who know not any cai e the livelong day ; 
I'air lies our home beyond the summer sea, 
Sad mortal, come away. 

To loll all day beneath the orange trees, 
Beside the noise of crystal sprouting 
springs, 
In spicy climes, with no remembrances 
Of melancholy things, 

Or else along white fields of murmuring 
foain. 
To chase the breaking ripples as they run; 
Awa> ! away! a thousand miles from home. 
And back before the sun 

SinkS) to bis evening bath in western floods ; 
Or else in great sea-shells <o float asleep. 
Rocked by sweet gales that blow from Indian 
woods, 
Along the charmed deep ! " 

These songs and more they sang, that fainter 
grew, 
And died upon the dark, and wholly ceased, 
As Morning with her sai-dals wet with dew, 
Came blushing up the east. 

I rose ; my nets lay broken by the brine, 
As sunrise burst o'er lanes and pastures 
fair; 



32 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

I heard the bleat of flocks, the low of kine, 
And ooariug larks in air, 

And all seemed joyous as tbe day arose, 

While I alone was downcast and oppieat ; 
Heart-heavy with a wei;iht of fancied woes, 
And woried with unrest. 

Eut in my beart I heard another voice, 
Low-toned and full of peace, that seemed 
to say, 
•'Behold the oieatures of the field rejoice, 
And art tkou leas than they ? 

Know all conditions tend to perfect ends : 

Perform thy lot : to Heaven leave t'ne rest; 
All things work out the good which God in- 
tends, 
The means, He knoweth best." 

H. S C. 



PYRUS J APONICl— FAIRIES' FIRE. 

Ir 13 said that the fairies have beaming eyes. 
And they light them at Love's own shrine ; 

But I know not if ou-ht below the skies. 
Can match those bright eyes of thine. 

Methinks thou hast stolen the Fairies' fire, 
To give them their changing light ; 

And lovers, I trow may all vainly aspire 
To a syren so charmingly bright. 

Soar not away, in thy brilliant guise — 
(In good sooth I fear thou'rt a ranger), 

And gaze not so fondly on yonder skies, 
Lest thou take to thee wings, sweet stran- 
ger. L. Q. R. 



MKCBXLANEOUS POEMS. SJ 



THE BEE. 

'Oa, the bee is a careless rover ! 

Into the meadow at morning b© goe*, 
Sipping the nectar out of the clover, 

Going to sleep in the heart of a rose I 
Or caught by a zephyr and wafted ajray, 

Sails o'er gardens gorgeous and gay, 
When the balmy south-wind blows 1 

Borne o'er blossoming fields and valleys, 

Whirled through odorous orchard alleys, 
Over the dappled forest pool, 
Cedar-scented, dim and cool, 
Where, beneath her leafy screen, 
The lily floats Hke a Naiad queen ; 

la and out of the lights and shadows. 

Over the dandelion meadows, 
Little brown bee, 
What cares he^? 

Floral burglar, bold "and free ! 

What will be do when it rains, 1 wonder. 
To hide himself from the wet and thunder t 
He will creep into the tulip's chalice, 
Veined and stained like a fairy's palace ; 
While to himself a song he sings. 
And revels in perfume as he swings. 
Little brown bee^ 
What cares he 
How the rain sweeps over the lea ? 
By and by, when skies are clear, 
His pink pavilion will unfold, 
And behold ! 
The burly reveler reappear. 
With the pollen on his wings I 
5 



34 Miscellaneous poews. 

But little he cares 

Foi*the look he bears, 
For he is a royal bandit bold, 
And wears a double belt of sold, 

And hidden underneath, 

A rapier in its sheath ! 
And what we think of him, you or me, 
Little recks the wee brown bee. 

No fear of dangerous mishap, 

That lurks in red snap-dragon's trap, 

Or bristling thistle's horny spurs, 

His fierce audacity deters. 

Of what the lawless plunderer will, . 

Our Epicurean takes his fill. 

Where will he ^o when frosty weather 
Strikes with blight the hedge and heather? 
When wet leaves strew the garden walk, 
And the dahlia shivers on her stalk — 
And the desola'e, early snows, 
Ravage the fields aud ruin the rose ? 
Ah, then he hies t ) his sylvan home, 
Of hollow oak, and waxen comb, 
And sleeps, and feasts, and sings, and sleeps. 
While the storm about him sweeps ! 

For the wee brown bee, 

What cares he. 
Whether the weather and heather agree ? 
But }»o dreams of buttercups and clover, 

Till the wintor is over, 

Then rubs his rings, 

And trims his wings. 
And frolics away like a reckless rover, 
Hunting for blossoms and stealing the honey, 
Hoarding it up as a miser his money. 

Gay pillager of honey dew, 
Go^ ransack all my garden through. 
And take or taste what suits thy fancy, 
Of heliotrope, or pink,, or pansy, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 35 

Sweet pea, or darling migniouette— 
Tall gladiole, or violet ; 
Only let me hear thy tune, 
Every sunny afternoon, 
Insect troubadour of June ! 

Chant me, pray, another stave, 

Of thy solo, faint and fine ! 
Grander mu^ic some may have, 

None is half so quaint as thine, 
Like the drowsy mouotone 
Of a tiny bagpipe's drone. 

Oh would, I too, might roam, and be 
Thy summer comrade, fancy-free ! 
And leave, for aye, the cares and strife, 
That vex with trouble mortal life, 

And follow the spring. 

And sail and ping, 
Gipsy of the air ! with thee, 
Busy, buzzy, wee brown bee ! 

H. S. C, 



A DREAM. 

In the Night of old my heart was bold— 

I walked through palaces of gold 

To a curtaiu'd chamber wide and cold. 

And as the soft, uncertain beam, 

Shed at last a golden gleam, 

A soft tongue said, " It is a dream! " 

Led by the ray, I reached the place — 
The lantern flash'd on Grecian grace, 
And the dim light fell on a living face ! 

Stricken I stood ! The violet eyes 
Blossomed, at last, in soft surprise, 
Lifting the lids of Paradise ! (-?) 



36 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS., 



SONG OF THE SYREN a 

The earth is full of woe. 
And Borrow the smn of things ; 

And darkly over all below, 
Doom and death extend their wings. 
PleasTire rides not on the restless wave ; 
Come and rest in a coral cave. 
Leave the troubled sea to rave and roar y 
Ahoy ! unhappy mariners, why will you wan- 
der more? 

For you upon the hills the pining paltns 

Extend inviting arms ; 
For you the lotus lilies blow 

By every yellow cape, 
And in double clusters low. 

Hangs the bursting grape ! 
Beautiful are the silver creeks, 

Through violet pastures rolled ; 
Beautiful the purple peaks. 

That tear the drifting skies of gold ! 
Here the long and gorgeous vales 

Perfume the rosy years ; 
Turn, turn and furl your tattered sails, 

O mortal mariners ! 
Perplext by unpropitious gales. 

And preyed upon by fears — 
Come and anchor by the happy shore ; 
weary sailors, come and rest ; why will you 
wander more ? 

For is there any pleaaantaess, 
All the tropic day to lie 

Mute, mulinous, mid-ocean, motionless, 
Beneath a burning sky — 

Watching for wind, a puff— a breath — 
Panting, dying for rain, 

With the horrible certainty of death 
Lying leadlike on the brain ? 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 37 

Or crowding the only boat, 
A ghastly crew of wasted forms. 
Hunted and driven by merciless storms, 

Into the whirlpool's hungry throat ? 
But Peace, she dwells upon the shore : 
O weary sailors ! ome and rest ; why will 
you wander more ? 

How many and many a bark, 
Happily homeward bound, 

Has struck the fatal ledges in the dark ! 
And ah ! how dismal was the dirge * 

Of the hoarse, isalt surge, 
For those who never dreamed of beiag 
drowned ! 

O leave the dreadful sea— 
The stormy waste of billows blue ! 

Our bosoms shall your pillows be, 
And we will sing sweet songs to you — 

Or, softly couched on bauks of bloom, 
List to the roaring tide, 

When the sunset melts in crimson gloom 
Over the waters wide. 
Tug no more the laboring oar ; 
O, beaten sailors ! here is rest ; why will you 
wander more ? 

The flinty fronts of your distant home 
Reject you, welcomeless; 

Come, no longer ling:er, come, i 

Here is ease and blisstulness — 

Odor-haunted woods, and plains 

Where eternal Summer reigns, 
And sleepy Time, upon a bank of roses, 

Sees not the truant hours that pass, 
But, travel-weary, indolently, dozes, 

And forgets to turn his useless glass ! 
Here be tarns whose widths are stirred 
But by the water-mirrored bird 
That swoops his wanton wing to lave ; 

And the Naiad's beautiful bai^e, 



38 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Sbell-ahaped wonder of the wave, 

Making fro'.ic trips from marge to margel 
Here no whirling tempests sweep, 
1 ut along the charmed deep, 
J^ irs of spice and breezes bland 
Strike with balm the grateful land, 
Jor Peace, she dwells upon the shore ; 
0, weary sailors ! tack for port ; and never 
wander more ! 

H. s. C. 



INFIDELITY. 

Religion a delusion ! Faith a myth ? 
And no hereafter !— no Eternitv ? 
No bliss ; no wo ; nothing beyond this life ! — 
^ud yet a God?— and God supreme in power, 
And ever to exist ! — a God who framed 
The Universe of Worlds by word 1 and called 
From chaos. Order, Life, and Light, and bade 
Us live. And live— for what, but for His 
praise ? 

Was it for these few fleeting moments here ? 
The grasp of pleasure, measured by a span ? 
This particle of time, as moments fly? 
To mingle with the dregs of sorrow's care, 
And bear us onwai'd to the silent tomb, 
Where all must slumber in forgetfuiness ? 
No ! Beason points to a hereafter ; — there 
To satiate the void earth cannot fill ; 
And look beyond, unto a brighter world, 
To realms where Death can never tyrannize. 
Eeligion natural, invites the mind 
To thoughts not doomed to honor here below; 
To distant flights in an eternal sphere. 
It speaks, inspired of Immortality- 
It speaks the mind — a never-ending thing — 
And God and Heaven— a bright reality ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 39 

EDWARD WALKER HATCH. 

OBIT FEBtiUARY 7, 1874. 

To-day we lay 
His mortal fr^me beneath the churchyard 

8od ; 
But his sweet soul within the arms of God, 

Shall rest alway ! 

We lay thee down 
Beneath the cypress tree : we shed a tear ! 
The mists break way lilie hope fulfilled ; and 
clear 

We see tny crown ! 

. While death holds forth 
Such hop© as thine, such pow'r, such love to 

save, 
O, sunbeam bright ! well may'st thou light the 
grave 
Of sterling Worth. 

Well may the rose 
And laurel weep : well may their branches 

bend, 
For Honor's noblest counterpart— Truth's 
friend- 
Here finds repose ! 

Thy tomb above. 
The Morn's warm tears the violet will start ; 
But sweeter blooms thy memory in the heart 

Of friends who love. 

His battle-strife 
Ever for Chri.-.tly ends and aims was given : 
Hia deeds, a ladder touching Earth and 
Heaven. 

Leading to Life ! 



40 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

O. mourner ! weep 
No more o'er thy deep grief and precious 

love ; 
For Death is but God's herald from above, 

To Christ's sweet sleep ! 

We hold our breath ! 
Tl.e friends who sadly gather ronnd thy side 
Are paie and tearful ; thou art like'a bride, 

Wed unto Death ! 

And yet how sweet ! 
Let fragrant oils be poured thy bosam.o'er : 
The langiiid jasmin's perfumed golden Btore 

Lay at thy feet ! 

In holy fear 
He sought the way of Innocence ; — did find. 
And in it walked ;— the pearl of Truth di- 
vine 

And held it dear. 

By honor led, 
He shrank from Falsehood, in her fairest, 

guise; 
His noble heart looked out from kindly 
eyes ; 
The poor be fed ! 

No more on earth 
He'll wake our Sabbaths with his muaio 

aweet ; 
In Heaven he sits at the dear Saviob's feet — 

New song hath birth ! 

Ah, nevermore 
His footsteps shall we hear along the street ; 
Nor e'er again his kindly voice will greet 

Us on Time's shore ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 4I 

This Vale of Tears 
Is shadow'd e'er by pbantoms grim and stark ? 
Ohance, Fortune, Fate— tempest and change- 
then da*k 
Clomds hedge our years. 

L. G. R. 
F-ebruary 10th, 18!74. 



ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. 

SwiST emblem of purity, 

Too soon hast thou gone — 
Where the blaze of futurity 

Makes splendid thy morn ! 
A buJ thou wert gw«n, 

iCheering earth but a day, 
Then the voices of angels 

Gently called thee away. 

Ere sin's subtle poT^er 

Hath its noison o'erspread, 
Like an innocent flower 

Thou art faded and dead ; 
Thy spirit so bright. 

Shrank from earth's gloomy shad©, 
And soared to a Light 

Where flowers never fade. 

Thy footsteps' soft treading 

Nevermore shall we hear, 
Nor thy voice with its music 

Enrapture the ear : 
But again shall we meet thee, 

Sweet cherub of love ; 
Soon again shall we greet thee, 

In thy bright home above! 

L. G. R. 
6 



42 Ml&CELLANEOUS POEMS. 



THE BRIDAL. 

I WATCHED the glcid procession cross th» 
green, 
When lad and lass came tripping through 

the fiells ; 
I heard the happy isonnd of minster bells, 
And chor&l songs between. 

Through the gotbic-vaulterl dome 
The swelling organ rolled 
Delightful modulations manifold, 
Till all at onoe the children said,"Tney come!'" 
" Place flowers," they said, 
** Upon her head. 
With harebt'l- from the dingle side, 
And biidal roses crown the bride, 

For fairer never yet was wed ! '* 

Along the middle aisle they esme, 

He full of mauly dignity— the pride 
Of all the 'own, she iTioviug by his side, 

Wi'h drooping ( yelids meek, 
Demurely, and a little flame - 

Of maiden bas'hfulneps upon her cheet, — 
Her heart beneath its snowy vest 
Rocking the white rose on her breast, 

So tenderly, so daintily, 
That one could not but long to be 

Rocked with it into rrsy rest I 

What time l-efore the shrine they stood, 

The nuptial music ceased, 
All save a passionate, low interlude, 

That trentblin^ly decreased. 

To a soft whi per trickling down the keys, 
Involving snatches of old melodies, 

Until the vows were taken. 
And the gray priest, with hands outstretched 
above, 



^MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 43 

iPerpetnal benediction supplicated, 
On them the wedded, worthy mated, 
Bold-hearted Youth, and evedastiog Love I 

Then with impetuons exultation shaken, 
The organ choral rose again sublime. 
And all the deep bells swung in golden 
chime, 
And Jarred .the air with joy's delicious mad» 

ness ! 
Again the children shouted in new gladness, 
" Twine flowers," they said, 
*' About her head, 
With myrtle from the mountain side, 
And double-blnshinff rrises crown the bride, 
For fairer never yet was wedJ " 



THE CLOSING SCENE. 

I SAW again the long line cross the green, 
While OQ the wandering airs forlornly fell 
The measured monody of one slow bell, 
With dirges doled between. 

Like Autumn, when he grieves in leafless 
trees, 
The solemn organ gave 

Low elegies that wailed in minor keys, 
And floated throu;2;h the gloomy nave, 
Like ghostly voices talking of the grave. 

With sorrow in their thoughtful faces, 
The village children from their places, 
In kirtles clean came up in sober bands, 
With sprigs and posies in their hands ; 
" Strew flowers," they said, 
" Upon the dead, 
With cypress from the loiiely heather, 
And pansies blown in sunny weather— 
And wet with tears ; 



44 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 

Oome join their loveliness to her's. 
To make the darkness of the sepulcher, 
Seem pleasant unto her I " 

And wandering through each arch and aislOr 
The saddened music all the while — 
What time the service for the dead, 
And solemn rituals were said, 

Seemed to grieve itself away, 

As a sad, unea<y breeze. 
That all the rough Atlantic day 
Has wandered up and down and blown and 
blown, 
And tired itself upon the lonely seas, 
Dies into silence whea the sun goes down. 

Unnoticed in the comer where I stood, 

And musing on the mournful obsequies, 
"Alas! alas !" 1 said, "is this the end? 

And must such melancholy scenes as these, 
That rob us of the beautiful and good, 

Forever on the ways of life attend ? 
Ay me ! there is no loveliness," I tliought, 
"But what to some untimely end is brought. 
Clouds hide the sun ; sin bolts the gates of 

Heaven ; 
And soon or late the happiest heart is riven ! 
Even Nature only decks herself with flowers, 
To show more ghastly in autumnal hours ; 
1q vain to heaven our clasped hands we lift ; 
Driven by adverse winds we drift and drift, 
From porta of pea ■e. like wretches lost at sea; 
Hope thins away into a hollow wraith, 

We fast, we pray, we wither and we die, 
Arid nothing is immutable but death." 

But in my heart I seemed to hear 
My angel whisjDer, tine and clear, 

"The good, the beautiful, can never die ! 
One touch of Faith shall rend the tomb as- 
sunder, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 45 

As rocks are riven by bolts of thunder ! 
Her's ia the pass- word of the sky : 
Triumphant over Death she soars 
And at her touch the starry doors 
Of Peace wide open fly ! " 

And then the choir began to sing, 
"0 Grave ! where is thy victory— thy victory ? 
O Death where ia thy sting ? " 
And again the children said 
" Come, come, 
Bpriukle flowers upon the dead, 

Heaven hath cahed an angel home ! " 

And blending in with rhythmic adoration*. 
And mellow thunder's ponderous palpitations, 

Again the swelling organa blew I 
In long reverberating undulations 

The deep baee rumbled, surged in seas of 
sound. 
From stop to stop the phonic fury flew, '^ 
The treble trumpets trembled, and anew 

Storms of triumphant music swept around ! 

And then a mellow flush of sunset bloom, 
That bridged with beams of hght the sacred 

gloom, 
Through the deep enstained windows came. 
Soft, warm, and like a stream of golden 
mist, 
That made the gothic gildings seem aflame, 
And clothed with glories an emblazoned 
Christ. 

H. S C. 



46 MISCSLLANEOUS POEMS. 



TWO PICTURES. 

Somebody's lieart is gay, 

Aud somebodv's beart is fad ; 
For li^htu is-hiue out acroaa the way, 

And a door with crape is clad — 
Sadness and gladness alike 

Are dweliinc? side by 8i<^e — 
Perhaps the death of an early one, 

And the crowning of a bride. 



Bright eyes are filled with mirth. 

Pale faces bend in prayer, 
And Hearts beside the household hearth, 

Are crushed by stout de><pair : 
Ah, {Sorrow, and Hope, and Joy, 

Are parted by thinnest walls ; 
But on the hearts of the thoughtless ones, 

Nq sliadow of sorrow falls ! 

No thoughts of the funeral train 

Come to the ftctivu ihrong ; 
No hope that the Past will come again, 

To the anguiahed hearts belong : 
The Future's a sunny sea, 

To the lovers of joy and mirth — 
But the Past alone, to those who weep 

For the sundered ties of earth. 



Semebody's he?rt is gay 

And somebody's heart is fad ; 
For the lights are bright across the way, 

And a d.^or with crape is clad — 
Sadness and gladness alike 

Confront us on every side ; 
A wealth of smiles, and a flood of tears 

With Hope and Sorrow allied ! 

L. G. B. 



MtSCfiLLANEOUS POEMS. 47 



MUSIC. 

Alusic, with its prying fingers, 
BreakB a pi^ssage to the soul, 

And in weiid and magic numbers. 
Sweeps its harp beyond coutrol. 

In the cottage of the peasant, 
Or in gilded, princely hall?. 

^^usic weaves its subtle influence. 
And each raptured soul enthralls. 

Music stirs the soldier's bosom, 
Bearing the battle-standard high, 

Proudly on 'mid storms that whistle 
Wildly along the leaden sky ! 



Music raves where restless surges 
Tlmndering strike the craggy shore, 

Or softly steals, like a winged phantom, 
O'er the ocean's shell-paved floor. 

Music, mystic and ethereal — 
Sweeter tones than earth can boast, 

Breathes from harps of the immortal 
Choir of Heaven's seraphic host ! 

CHRiST-stnmg harp ! let angel fingers 
Wake thy holy so g ; while seraphs near 

Strike th«> choriis 'hat banish sorrow, 
Bringing peace for every tear ! 

L. G. R. 



48 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



ABSENCE, 

Slow move the hours, my love, when far 
from thee ! 
The wings of Mom are heavy, and the 
Liight 
With mocking dreams but tantalizes me, 

And cheateth Grief with counterfeit delight. 
Lo ! as a Pilgrim watcheth from a hight 
The breaking East that shall dibclose his 
way, 
I lift mine eyes to thee for strength and 
light, 
Nor trust a lesser eplendor than tbe day ! 
How long, how long. Beloved, shall I pray ? 
How long afflict ^ith sighs the listening 
dark. 
Or walk wtth Doubt in devious paths astray ? 

For like the dove, back-flyiug to the ark, 
I fin^i in all the Earth no place to rest; 
Unless iuiparadised upon thy faithful breast ! 

H. S. C. 



TO L. 



To THFE, dear friend, how many leagnos 
away 1 
Beyond what fields of space, what breadths 
of sea ! 
Kept from our fireside circle long, — to thee 
We fill the Christmas cup and drink to- day. 
Whethfr in Tropic Isles thy feet may stray, 
Pursuing Pleaeurt^ thro' her gay Domain 
Till friends and Home and kindred o'er the 
m:iin 
No more the ppells of Memory obpy ! 
Or lying bec.ilmed uoon the burnished plain 
Of Ocean vast, thou visiteth again 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 49 

Eq homesick dreams the Land that gave thee 
birth ; 
God keep thee ever in His watch and wai'd \ 
And let our prayers^ like an Angelic guard, 

CompanioE thee, Beloved, through the Earth 

H. S C. 



A MEMORY. 
Sue came to us one lovely spring time morn'- 

iiig, 
When bright-winged birds sang sweetly in 
the trees, 
And fragrant flowers each dingle-side adorning. 
Gave out their perfume to the passing 
breeze: 
A guileless heart made radiant her brow ; 

The asure skies in beauty rose above her ; 
And none e'er gaaed upon her cheeks' soft 
glow, 
Put yielding to sweet fate, became a lover ! 

I mind me now, how in the summer hours. 
Hand clatped in hand we sped the lanes 
along, 
And plaited garlands of the bright wild flow- 
ers, 
At evening-time and when the day was 
young : 
Oh ! those were hours undinamed by thought 
of sorrow, 
When Hope's bright star was radiant in 
the skies ! — 
Each dying day foretold a fairer morrow, 
And banished grief from our too-hopeful 
eyes ! 

Spring fled away— and Summer, with Its flow* 
ers, 
And Autumn with its chilling blasts came 
rourd ; 

7 



50 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

TliG Bere and jellow leaves, in copious show- 
er-i 
Fell a coverlet to the frozen ground. 
And then the love-light from her eyes de- 
parted. 
Their depths no more with fires of love were 

lit, 
Health's rose upon her cheek grew pale and 
faded, 
Deva.th'8 awful signet on her brow was set. 

When Winter came, she lay all cold and silent, 

With one small hand upon her pulseless 
breast ; 
Those large dark eyep, so radiant and brilliant. 

Were lustrelesb and dim ; she was at rest ! 
Thev gave her body to the cruel tomb ! 

Heaven has lopt half its hghtness for me ; 
Earth seems unlovely in her brightest bloom, 

Aud life is lonely, love, unshared by thee'. 

L. G. R. 



TO A FROG. 

UucouTH batrachian ! ye whose curious tribe, 
So long unpuug. invites the comic muse, 
What shall be said of thee to tempt the mood 
Of frolic Fancy ? Bitting on a lo<?, 
Oft have I watdied thy quaint placidity, 
And ever as a vagrant step approached. 
With quick galvanic spasm wouldst hurl thyself 
With leap precipitate and headlong plunge, 
Into the startled pool, emerging soon, 
With wary eye at some remoter point, 
Scanning the scant horizon of thy sea— 
A stagnant mill-pond, for an enemy. 

'T is natural to wi^h to be the first 
!i^ something, and in nameless homelines", 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 51 

Thou peerleds art, and both grotesque aud 

grave— 
Profouud, and sage, aud imperturbable, 
Thou art the very Buusby of the brook ! 
But unlike those whose outer show denotes 
An excellence quite foreign to the trutt) — 
Horrid thou art, not dangerous. Vhtue moves 
Immaculate through the slippery dens of vice, 
Her suow-white wings unsullied by a stain ! 
So, thou, babituant of malarial poils. 
Emergest shining, with thy grass-grceo vest 
Untarnished as a virgin emerald ! 
Bat thou, like man, exietence cannot buy, 
Exempt from insecurity. Above, 
The fish-hawk, with sagacious glance observes 
Thy slightest motion, and voracious drops, 
Swift as a stone tl'}rough the resistless air, 
And bolts thee all rem<'rs'^les8 ! Underneath 
The gudgeon and the pickerel take thee in. 
Or reckon thee among their sure aasets. 
So life is full of danger. Weaponless 
Art thou, not like the lean and hungry shark. 
Whose serrate jaws with quick fatality 
Deracinates his prey with sudden snap, 
Or that spasmodic eel whose stui-ning shock 
Electr c, strikes with unexpected dea^h 
His huge antagonist, thy simple Hfe 
Is but too frequently abridged to serve 
Some epicurean appetite that finds 
Thy j&ne transparent flesh most delicate. 

Time was, when yet the new-created word 
Was but a ma^s of mud ; and mack and mire 
Comprised the total of the real estate 
Of the apocryphal preadamites— 
Concerning which, astute geologists 
Expound queer facts, or else colossal lies ! 
Chaos was king ; and the mophitic air, 
Surcharged with carbon irrespirable, 
Bred hideous shapes, which but to nominate, 
Forces philosophy to tongues extiuct. 



52 MISCELLANEOUS FOEMS. 

This was the very paradise of frogs ! 

The seventh heavea of the Iguauodou, 

The Icthyosaurus, and the nameless forms — 

Shapes hideous as nightmare, that alone — 

Inhabited the unaccomplished world. 

And there, conjectureless. tiiy one wild note, 

Traversed the desolate and dismal void, 

With etridulous voiciferaticm hai>h, 

That made more grim the inimitable waste 

With ululation indescribable ! 

Bat where was nought but universal slough, 

Now stand the populous places of the earth ; 

London, Cohanzie, Pekiu, Waterford, 

And other marts of splendid history, 

Where numerous as the industrious ant that 

builds 
His arenicioua domes in spicy woods 
Of far Brazil, man congregates, of v?hom 
Not insiguificant the number who 
Have been ihe theme of high poetic praise — 
Worth less because they rapined on their 

kmd 
By aid of reason,which thou hast not— crushed 
The poor, assumed an air of lighteousness — 
Were fiist where ost ntdtious chanty 
Made human devils look respectable- 
Drove to the church with punctual gorgeous- 

ness, 
lu gilded equipa,2;e8 — mon less worth 
Than many a frog that on a brookside bog 
Enjoys the sunshine of his little day, 
That never robbed his triend, or broke the 

heart 
Of orphans by extortionate designs. 
Made widows suicides, or forced to crime 
Impoverished virtue; but enough of this : 
Weak man is full of fallibility ; 
Justice is hoodwinked, and her good right arm 
Tha* should but bear the sword of equity, 
Is often palsied by a golden wt ight. 
But fare thee well, my friend ; I must be 
b ief : 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 53 

My Bong grows hoarse ; my hurdy gurdy 'a 

tired : 
And so like thee, I '11 plunge myself again 
Into blank sileace and obscurity, 
Till more poetic sunshine thaws me out ! 

H. S. C. 



THE SPRING-TIME. 

O! THE warm days of Spring-iime now are 
bringing 
Their soft, delicious, aromatic gales, 
And the bright flowrets everywhere upspring- 
ing. 
Bring promise witn them to the gravis and 
dales. 

Now all the eartli puts on a robe of gladness, 

And a now life is gushing in the heart ; 
The birds, the flowei-s, give not a thought of 
sadneps, 
Yet all unbid the pent up tear will start. 

For we remember, when the winds of Au- 
tumn 
Had made the forests desola'e and drear, 
We mourned the losing of each bud and 
blossom, 
And we forgot the Spring-time brought 
them here ; 

And that another Spring-time, just as glori- 
ous, 
With its rich breath, and long, bright golden 
day, 
And with its fair-hued flowers, would soon 
restore us 
The joys and hopes that with them passed 
away. 



54 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Our faith depends too much on sunny weather. 
We cann'it sine: bmt wben the birds rejoice ; 

We falter ever wlien the dark clouds gather ; 
And when storms tlireaten, Hope sabdues 
her voice. 

! that our hearts could ever learn this 
lesson, 
That though clouds hide it, still the sun 
shines on ; 
And though the ; now-wreaths cover bud and 
blossom, 
They will be ours vrheu Winter's rei^n is 
done ! l. u. k. 



CAPRICES. 



-THE TRIUMPH OF FAITH. 



The skeleton Death came out of a tomb, 

To dance among the vaults ; 
And he ciinned to himself at his gobliu jigs. 

And frantic somer-aults ! 

But be gazed aghast at a figure of Faith, 

With a finger pointing high ; 
And tied to his cell ; but the statue etlll 

As steadf a-tly points to the sky ! 

II.— AFTER THE BALL. 

When the heated dance is over, 

With what fat gue and pain, 
We pass to the waiting carriage, 

That bears us home again ! 

So, when life'.s Bal Masque is endel. 

And the dancers are out of breath. 
We are led to a black-plumed carriage. 

By the silent fooiman, Death ! 

H, s. c. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 55 



SPRING. 

ToK earth is dark and cold to-n'ght ; 

The heavens are full of rain ; 
And swathed in rohes of muffl.ng cload, 

Comes stormy March again. 

The herald of the Spring is he, 

Tho i2;h clad in icy mail ; 
Along the Land I hear him wind 

His war-hoi'n of the gale ! 

The flower-seeds in the frozen ground, 

Soon as his voice they hear, 
Whisper among themselves, " Behold, 

The golden days are near ! " 

He leads his sisters by the hand — 

His younger sisters two, — 
Sweet April with a violet, 

And aiay witli eyes of blue. 

The first, she only weeps and weeps, 

With some mysterious woe ; 
Her gracious tears they fall in showers, 

That tha\Y the earth below. 

But pensive to the last, she dies ; 

And lo I about her bed 
Upspring a thousand tender plants. 

To mourn the early dead. 

But when tliey see the jolly May, 

Forgetting all their gloom— 
They put their gayest garments on, 

And Iimgh outright in bl' om !: 

H s. < 



MISCELLANEOUS TOEMS. 



THE RAIN. 

How gently comctli down the rain ! 

Shut out from earth, the day- god sleeps, 

And each full cloud now sadly weeps 
Its tribute on the ^pringmg grain. 
Tears I tears from Nature's dewy eyes, 

Those raindrops pecm wiiich fall to earth ; 

They call the fruits and flowers to birth, 
And bid all perfumes sweet arise, 
Quivering on every leat, they eeem 

Like glitteriug peat 1, or costly gem 

"Whicii flash in Eisteai diadem ; 
Or ou the brow of beauty gleam. 
They c ime from heaven to cheer the thirsty 

pliin. 
But soon on sunbeams they fly back again. 

L. G. R. 



CHARITY. 

Be thou, oh ! mao, in all thy ways, 
(Jenerous as love, and like the rays 
That, shoot from suns to warm the field; 
Let thy full sheaf its substance yield, 
Not with a stealth, but free as love, 
As God sends rain from clouds above 
To water fields with gentle showers. 
And teach the seeds tn burst in flowers. 

So all through life, ye sons of man, 

Aid ye the heart in this grand plan 

To wreathe in smiles each careworn face, 

To plant within the soul new grace. 

Give of thy store, though small it be. 

As God gives life and health to thee. 

Oil ! blet-t is ho V lin gives with love 

His chariy ; and hiich above 

The aiif^efs sing and tiild lis name 

Ol the eternal it 11 of Fame! l g r. 



MTSCKLLANKOUS POEMS. 



DICKENS* 

AcBoss the sea the sudden message came, 
'•Dickens is dead ! " and thrilled a nation' 
heart 
As all at once the splendor of his fame 
Illumined the world of Ait I 

From State to State, on wings of lightninj^ 
flew 
The mournful tidings, till ftom shore tc 
shore, 
Each grave pTofeasor. as each schoolboy knew 
That DiCEKNs was no more ! 

Nuns lisped it as at secret f brines they knelt : 

In sad'leQed cities men with paces slow 
Moved to their tasks, and Age and Childhood 
felt 
A brotherhood of woe. 

But ah ! not dead, though from our sight 
removed ! 
A household friend, he lives and lingers 
still. 
Enshrined in every heart with names beloved, 
The children of his will. 

By Genius led, the phantom shapes arise, 
Of jovial Mirth, and Bigotry and Cant, 
And heavenly Charity in lowly guise, 
And Penury, and Want ; 

And dauntless Hope that looks beyond the 
grave, 
And splendid misery, and gilded vice. 
And Polly's dupe, and Fashion's painted elave 
And Pride with heart of ice. 
S 



^8 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Nor unremerabered be the glorious times 
Of song and wassail, and of bounteous 
cheer, 
Green merry Christmas .with its frosty chimes. 
To mirth and memory dear I 

Nor we alone I but on from age to age, 
Shall unborn thoueands own the potent 
spell, 
And laugh when Pickwick comes upon the 
stage, 
Or weep for little Nell I 

For them ae:ain shall Jingle play his part, 
The Fat Boy sleep, or lone, lorn Gummidge 
grieve ; 
Or Heep conspire, or Buns^y con the chart, 
And sage opinion give. 

Full oft for them shall Lady Dedlock hear 
A ghostly footstep when the winds arise ; 
Or little Joe "move on" from year to year, 
And Pecksniff moralize. 

And many a time shall Tapley laugh at Fate. 
Or Scrooge at Marley's spectre stand aghast, 
Or gxand Micawber, impecuDious wait, 
The luck that comes at last ! 

How oft in Pinch shall want and worth com- 
bine ! 
In Dombey, c nscience light her secret hell! 
How oft in Cuttle, homely virtue shine ; 
In Fagin, vice repel ! 

Oh ! great Magician in the world of thought ! 
Kind teacher, whom we shall not see again, 
God grant that these, the lessons thou hast 
taught, 
May not be all in vain. 

H. 8. C. 



untBCELLANEOUS POEM* 1^9 



THE OCEAN SHELL. 

I PICKED it up upon the ocean shore, 

While the wild siirgea dashed with ceaeless 

roar, 
And Heaven' 3 artillery was grandly breaking. 
Id thunder peals, the earth and Boa awaking ; 
And after, soon, I watched the riiinbow bright, 
Suflftising Heaven with its tinted light, 
And colors viv^id ; then the skies grew clear : 
''These are the types," I thought, *'of Hope 

and Pear, 
/nd passions oppoeite, that sweep the breast 
Of changeful man, with rapture or unrest." 



And holding still the-Bbell unto my ear, 

The secrets of the deep I seemed to hear ; 

It whispered to me of the hidden r>jck. 

Of coral reefrt and many a fearful shock; 

Of mothers' tears, and waiting widow'5 sigh, 

And love-lorn maidens' agonizing cry ; 

Of noble craft, its wings displayed in pride, 

Now rotting idly by some tropic tide — 

And those whose bones lay bleaching on the 

sands 
Of alien shores, and undiscovered lands ! 



It whispered low of wild, tempestuous nights — 
Of minute-guns and lurid beacon-lights— 
Shipwrecking billows, rising to the sky, 
While terror stark flashtd from the pilot's 

eye- 
All these, and more, its murmuring would 

tell, ^^-^'-^ .. :, 

That mystic tenant of the Ocean Shell ! 
And then, it told of where drowned heroes 

dBep, 



6o MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And dripping mermaids their lone vigils keep. 
Their festooned walls with perfect pearls 

hu' g o'er, 
While shells and emeralds strew the coral 

floor I 



O, mairic Moon ! well may'st tboa reil thy 

sight, 
A f ea- tul tale my shell hath toH to-night ! 
I da; ed not hold it ! 't was a dole ul tiling, 
Wliose soaud was that of the death-aagers 

wing ! 
No moie its murmured music soothed my soul, 
But wild and hoarse it grew, and 'ike the roll 
Of surging breakers, hurling m the dark, 
To doom and deatb, the mastlesa. shuddering 

bark! 
O cease ! vext spirit of my ocean shell — 
No more to me thy dismal secrets lell ! 



Thus man. as o'er Life's shifting miin he sails. 
Finds zone-i of cilm, and devastating gales- 
Margins of bloom, ana 6) igiit Hesperides — 
Elighlands of happ ness, and fatal peas ! 
\nd hears two mystical, but diverse voices, 
kt which his spirit trt^mbles or rej aces ; 
ifet, fixing still his eye on that pure light. 
Which gleams afar from Heaven's radiant 

higbt, 
He brings at last.when life's wild vryage is o'er, 
His mortal barque to the Immortal Shore ! 

L. G. R. 



Good nioht !— ah; no ! the hour is ill, 
That severs those it should unite ! 

Let us remain together still. 

And then, 't will be indead good night I 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 6l 



BY THE SEA— A Memort. 

Alone, alone, alone, 

I walk by the sounding shore ; 
I hear the wild winds talking, 

And the breaker'.s answering roar ; 
But they hold a mystic language 

I cannot understand. 
Though m;^ soul it longs and listens, 

As I pace the silver sand, 
To the deep, seolian syllables. 

Blown from ihe winter land — 
The thumier-surging sentences, 

That crash along the strand ! 

I listen and I ponder, 

Ani my spirit longs for him, 
For whom the book of the Uuiverse 

Held n^^thinpr vague or dim ; 
For I cannot gras<« the meaning, 

And my s' ul is less at e-tse, 
Than the gull that p!unges through the surf, 

And wresrles with the breeze! 
But alas ! for nevermore 

Will he pace the sauds with me, 
While I hear his grand translation, 

Of the old-time mystery— 
The solemn winds a-ta Iking, 

And the answer of the sea ! 

Therefore by these sad waves, 

A spell forever lies, 
And from these sullen-sighing pines, 

The ancient music dies ; 
And from \ onder beetling cliff, 

That catches the earliest day. 
And every olden haunt we loved, 

The gl»ry fades away ! 
An^ as a wandering child at night 

Moves on in doubt and pain, 



67 MISCELLANEOUS P0EM9. 

And unto tbe desolate darkness, 

Doth wofully complain, 
I wake the echoes with my cries, 

And call, and call in vain, 
And listen long for the kindly voice 

I never shall hear again ! 

He might have left a nam», 

Revered, inviolate, 
Aloft in tlie Parthenon of Fame, 

With names of tlie gO"d and great,— 
Tbe princes of the Realm nf RU^me, 
Or GoD-like, vigiJan% subhine, 

Have held the helm of state ; 
But hir? soul, like a carolling lark, 

Soared Ligh o'er Time and Fate, 
Till »he sentinel seraphim heard his voice, 

And opened the shining gate ! 

So I dream of an angf^l waiting, 
Where never tlie wild wind?} roar. 

But I lie dying rippJo in music breaks, 
Un a golden-8and*-d shore ; 

An 1 I tive my tears to the vanienecl yeare, 
A joy I shall tind no more ! h. s. o. 



AN EVENma REVERT. 

How lovf'ly is the stilly morn, 

When from its rosy bed, 
LiKe a s'rong man refreshed by sleep, 

The sun uplifts hs head ; 
And when behind the western hillB, 

At eventide he goes. 
How beauteous are the crimson clouds 

That curtain his roDOse. 

The sunset hour is dearer far 
Than the fierce glare of noon ; 



MiSCSI.L;^N£Ol S PCEMS. 6^ 

I love to watcli the evening star, 

A' tendant on the muon ; 
Then thought flies high, and memory 

Recalls each by-gone scene. 
While in the future far I see 

A desert isle of green. 

Kow dewy eve steals prently in ; 

Twilight in gray is did : 
Ihe bir^is their vespers sweetly sing, 

And all the eai tli is glad ; 
Now to their homew the swallows fly, 

Tired Nature sinks to rest : 
Slow fades the twilight from the sky, 

And all the earth is blest. 

How sweetly now the moonlight ejleame 

Through loneiv woodland b>wer8 ; 
And weU alike I know its beams 

Rest on this land of ours ; 
For one Good Father dwells above, 

One hope to all is given— 
If here we part from those we love, 

We meet again in heaven. t,. o. b. 



THE SEA. 
I. 
How dreadful in thy element, 

Art thou, subUme and glorious Sea, 
When on Pome adverse purpose bent ! 
Man yields implicitly to thee. 

Thy tides so steady ebb and flow, 
Still unexplored thy depths may be ; 

So still thy soundless wells below, 
How calm must thy Creator be ! 

0, restless, ever-sounding sea, 
A (symbol dread to man thou art 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Of the vast, wild immensity 
Of the tumultuous human heart 



How grand is the billowy surge 
Of the dark and heaving sea, 

As its foamy ci ept» emerge ; 
How majcbtic and how free ! 

Who does not love the wild Hue sea, 
And its ever-fitful waves ? 

Who does not rejoice in its ioUity, 
As the level strand it laves ? 

Who loves not, in the starlight hour, 
To gaz« on the placid sea ? 

O'er my spirit comes a mystic power. 
As I behold God's majesty I 

When will cease the riot and roar 

Of the grandly- murmuring sea ? — 

When He ope's Futurity's door, 

To usher in Eternity ! l. o. b. 



LIVE FOR GOD AND HUMANITlf. 

Pur all thy talents to their use ; 

Lay nothing by to rust ; 
Give vulgar ignorance thy scorn, 

And innocence thy trust. 

Rise to thy proper place in life ; 

Trample upon all sin ; 
And e'er a gentle hand hold out, 

To help the wanderer in. 

So live, in faith and noble deed- 
So Heaven returns to earth ; 

So live, that men shall mark the time 
That gave thee mortal birth. l. o. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 65 



THE PRISONERS OF TIME. 

The world i^ a prison old, 
Aud we are captives ail ; 
For the tyrant Time, he reigns sublime. 
And holdetii us in thrall. 

A restless multitude, 
We waoder to and fro, 
By hopes allured, that unsecured, 
Still lead from woe to woe. 

With masks of ghastly mirth, 
Some hide an inward care ; 
With griefs unknown, some weep alone, 
And waste with mute despair ! 

The beautiful and brave, 
Console us but a day. 
Though fondly uurst, they fail us firsts 
And soonest pass away. 

Momently opens and sbuta 
The black, sepulchral door ; 
And the blessed souls that go that way. 
Return to us no more. 

No more to the haunts of Pain^ 
And the cells of Sin and Fear, 
But walk in white, in a purer light. 
And a finer atmosphere I 

The warden named Death, 
He sitteth by the gate, 
And guardeth well, for good or ill, 
The secret keys ot fate. 

Nor pity nor remorse 
That iron heart can move ; 
9 



66 MISCELLANEOUS PoEMS. 

Yet sometime he Tfili beckon me, 
To follow those I love. 

What though God's jewels star 
This azure roof of ours— 
This verdant floor be sprinkled o'er, 
With mira-les of flowers? 

Weak types of glories hid ! 
For grander scenes we sif^h ; 
We pine lor stars that never pale, 
And flowers that never die ! 

For we know there is a land, 
Hesperian and fair. 
Whereof in dreams we catch such gleams. 
As bring us half-way tnere ! 

With endless cbange of phrase, 
Our sad appeals ascend ; 
Oh ! not inured, though long immured, 
When shall our bondage end ? 

H. S < 



THE WITHERED FLOWER. 

And thou art withered, lovely flower, 
Just in the morning of thy bloom ! 

Ihy fragrance la-^ted but an hour — 
A blossom only for the tomb ! 

Plucked by the ruthless hand of Death, 
From off a fostering parent-stem, 

When thou exhaled thy fragrant breath, 
A gem dropt from earth's diadem ! 

L. G. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POiiMS . 67 



SPRING HAS COME. 

Now Spring proclaims the fskies her own] 
A vernal robe o'er earth is thrown ; 
The sun, all beaming, smiles o'erhead, 
And brooks rejoice that Winter's fled ; 
The violets, on forest edges, 
Salute the hawthorn in the hedges ; 
And faithful swallows, on fleet wing, 
Herald the advent of the Spiing ! 

The Easter daisies nod their heads ; 
The bees emerge from waxen beds ; 
Blue-birds and cuckoos, on sweet gales. 
With choral songs awake the vales ; 
The tortoise thaws, and butterflies 
Air their fine wings 'neath Apiil skies t 
The reign of Winter has gone by— 
Spring dons her rich embroidery I 

Now maidens pluck wild pasture roses ; 
Now children gather roadside posies ; 
The sparrow, robin, finch, and wren, 
With waiblings fill each lane and glen ; 
The murmuring streams, lihe fairy-bells, 
Dance tinkling through the wooded dells : 
And blithesome insects and glad beasts, 
Keep not the Lenten fasts, but feasts ! 

O, breath of Spring ! from o'er the le^, 
Thou bringest newer life to me ! 
Thou whispereth low, sweet tales of bliss, 
And soft as fragrant is thy kiss ! 
We welcome thee, bright floral Quefln ! — 
Rich thy attire, and glad thy mien! — 
Bright messenger from courts Hbove — 
The home of Spring, and deathless love ! 
L. G. R. 



68 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS* 



THE WOOD-FAIBIES. 

Oh ! merry are we fairy folks, 

The tiniest of Races ! 
Who only on bright Summer nights. 

Presume to show our faces ; 
Beneath the shade of elm or oak^ 

Or in the moonlit spaces, 
We revel bill the birds awake, 

Then hide in cozy places I 

Oh, there, beneath the winking stars, 

We start the queerest fancies ! 
Make mimic warfare on the sward, 

Equipt with bulrush lances, 
With mushroom shields, and acorn casques. 

We charge for bloodless chances, 
And celebrate our victories, 

With antic rites and dances I 

Oh, ho ! you ought to see us troop 

About the fields together. 
With lady-slippers on our feet, 

And plumes of p.carlet feather, 
Drinking the dew from butteicups, 

Upon the fragrant heather, 
Or hiding under melon-leaves. 

For fear of thunder-weather ' 

Or often in some lily large, 

Cradled in gold and azure, 
What time the bee's Ioav lullaby, 

Drones in a drowsy measure, 
We let ourselves be rocked asleep 

By zephyrs at their leisure; 
And while away the careless day, 

In dreams of fairy pleasure ! 

Or else to silver brooks that cool 
Some Qweet se'Jluded valley ; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 69 

At blowing of the sea-shell horn, 

How merrily we rally ! 
Where many a woodland waterfall 

Down tumbles musically, 
About the mossy-margined pools, 

We frolic and we dally ! 

Oh, know ye not the little folk. 

So beautiful and wary ? 
Who live in quiet woods and glens. 

And lead a life so merry ? 
Who only dare to show themselves 

When 'Summer nights are starry— 
The woodland Eives, the little folks. 

The tiny tribes of Faery ? h. s c. 



THE FADED ROSE. 

The rose that blooms at early morn, 

And forth its fraRi'ance casts, 
May have its petals rudely torn, 

By midnight's ruthless blasts ; 
And none who prized the gentle flower, 

So fresh in balmy duy. 
Will vigils keep at midnight hour, 

To snatch it from deciy. 

And when, upon the drooping stalk, 

Its broken life we see. 
And scattered o'er the garden walk, 

The laded leaves shall be, 
Oh, who will then, with gentle care, 

Prop up the falling stem. 
Or with a gentle footstep spare. 

What lived and bloomed for them ? 

L. G. R. 



70 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



I THINK OF THEE. 

Whkn the warm touch of Spring ope's the urus 
of the fountain, 
And storm clouds are melting away from 
the sky ; 
And sunrise lies warmer in meadow and 
m< untain, 
Like Nature awaking from sleep with a 
sigh ; 
When the hare iti the wood so quickly ia 
bounding. 
And the leaves ai*e budding on every tree ; 
When warblings of birds are melodiously 
sounding, 
I '11 think, in that season, my dear one, of 
thee. 

When sweet Summer flowers in beauty are 
growing. 
And bab^-buds slumbei in cradles of green ; 
When the musical brook is so gracefully 
flowing, 
While silvery m^^lody gladdens the scene ; 
When Repose mikes her couch in twilight 
soft streaming. 
And drowsily rises the hum of the bee ; 
When earth seems a heaven, with radiance 
beaming, 
I '11 think, in that season, sweet darling, of 
thee. 

When chill Autumn breezes through forests 

are sighing, 
And the leaves, redly fading, their destinv 

tell ; 
When low, moaning sounds, like tones of the 

dying, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 71 

Fall sad on ihe heart as a whispered fare- 
well; 
When the song-bird, in sadness, flies South to 
discover 
A new sunny home o'er some far distant 
sea ; 
When pastures re-ec'io the wail of the plover, 
I 'll think, in that Sfason, my heart-choice, 
of theo. 

When Winder romes on, with cold influence 
stealing, 
Robbing tlie verdure, and blighting the 
bloom : 
Wiien the blast of the North, bis fury re- 
vealing. 
Descends on the earth like the Angel of 
Doom ; 
When ice-teittred waters are tranquil sleep- 
ing, 
And their bosom, like thine, from tempest 
is free, 
Then turns my lieart to thy memory, and 
weeping, 
la that season I think, bright angel, of 
thee. I.. G. R. 



EPIGRAM. 

I HAVE a dear Httle wife. 

Who is all for lawn ! — 

For lawn ! 
Nor silks nor satins will she wear ; 
And velvets, too, she cannot bear ! — 
It 's really sad— she is eo fair. 

And all for lawn — 

For lawn— F' liorn ! B, 



72 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



ON THE SANDS. 

How radiant is the glow, 
That gilds the ocean sheen ; 

While soft the South winds b'oWs 
And not a sail is seen. 

Like heaven's ethereal hue, 

So placid is the deep ; 
I Tiould, oil waters blue, 

Lay on ihy breast and sleep ! 

So pure, and still, and bright, 
It eeems hke Beauty's death. 

Or like a symbol right, 
Of true-love's holy faith ! l. a. 



A SONG. 

The pale moon gleama down brightly, 

On yon green shaded vale ; 
The dim woods make sweet music 

In the sot't-breathitjg gale ; 
The modest stars from heaven 

Look mildly down below ; 
The murmur of the distant brook, 

Is Hweet in its silver flow. 

Thus o'ei' our hfe's dim twilight, 

The Lamp of Love doth shine ; 
The soul touched by His presence, 

Wakes melody divine : 
His bright saints, ever blessed, 

Send sunshine on oar way : 
His words of peace and comfort. 

Suffice from day to day. l. ( 



lElSCELLANEOUS POEMS. 73 



TO A GRASSHOPPER. 

"l^NY, pea-green harlequin ! 

What of wonder can desciibe 

All jour odd, gymnastic tribe, 
To the kaug;.roo akin ? 

Unless Dakwin goes amiss, 

Wiih his queer hypothesis. 

Vaulter of the summer grasses, 
Skipping from whoever passes, 

Or coijcluding no great harm meant, 
Clinging, bun-like, to my garment,— = 
What of comedy surpasses 
Yours ? Pray tell me what you mean^ 

Long elfin green. 
By those auiic evolutions, 
Som«r.-.ets and revolutions, 
You indulge in all the while so, 
Makiug serious people smile so ? 

For what intent 

You were meant, or sent-, 
Is a problem most obtuse. 
Questionless, you have a use, 

If the little powers of man, 

All the mystery could scan, 

Of the universal plan. 

Chirping chimer, elover climber, 
Insect athlete ! never stumbling. 
In your ground and lofty tumbling, 
Strange it is a thing so fragile, 
Should be so extremely agile. 

When long summer dries the marshes 
Your small gong a little harsh is ; 
But you doubilees like it better 
Than when fields are something wetter, 
Rank with rain or damp with dew, 
lo 



74 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 

For like many a modern toper, 
Summer-vSolKtic ' interloper, 
Water don't agree with you ! 

And lilie iirti-te wlio sing louder;. 

And [terl>aps a trifte prouder, 
Your falsettos, with good reason, 
Must be given in " The Season." 

Sometimes, silent on a picket, 

I have watched you sit an hour. 
Till gome melancholy ci-icket 

Would hi:* noonday song outpour, 
Then you Vl rub your parchment wings, 
Wiih your fiddle-bows and things,— 
Lantern jiws. 
And legs like saws, 
Til' it >eemotl from euch a clatter, 

Sometliit g dreadful was tho matter? 
Ovcr-zealou^, if not jealous. 
In y.'ur diuuiming and your blowing 
Fr<>babl\ yon ti.oupht your bellows 
IVl'ght as well givt» out in showing 
How to do a thing worth knowing ! 

Go it thfp, spasmodic ''ean'?rl 
t^eize yonr pleasnre while you may ; 
Blow your Imrn and have your day ; 
Wl'rn tlio pnmrc.se days ai-e over, 
And all dead art- vines and clover, 

That iiust^re, remorseless reaper, 
Time, w ill turn us all to hay ! 

Wlion October, 
Liije a vailet. 
Kobs the woodland's snmmer dress ; 

And tho maple, blabbing scarlet. 
As tiie rnffian wiiid-; d'brobe her, 
Sh'inks in timorous distress ; 

Wh<n no longer l.ans the Idy 
By the mill-pond s mossy edge. 
And an influeuce damp and chilly. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 75 

Blasts the rose aTid d ffodilly, 
And the vines along the ledge— 
When the cricket 
Leaves the thick e^. 
To creep under kitc*irD rugs. 

Then, O mountebank of buga ! 
Unique acrobatic vanlter. 
Your frail powers will fail and falter^ 
And some chill, autumiial m >rniug, 
Lying, dying, 
Without warning, 
You will find it ustless trying. 
Leaping, creeping, .-iiif^ing. flying ; 
With some early robin <\a ting, 
Cool and calm, and aggravating, " - 

Like some grim and hungry wizard, 
Obviously deliberating 

When to pop you in his gizzard. 
Farewell butterflies and clover, 
Death is fate the wide world over I 

H. s. c. 



OUR MAT. 

Round our hearthstone, day by day, 
Glides a fairy, blithesome form, 

Chasing sorrow's cloud avvay. 
Filling life with sunshine warm ; 

And our hearts so softlv beat, 

To the music of her feet. 

Sunshine rests in every tress 
Of Mav's brown and curly hair ; 

Daintiest rose-buds e'er carets 
Cheeks so soft and velvet fair ; 

And the rare flush of peuchcn lips, 

Lingers long upon her lips. 



MISCELLANEOUS PDEM9= 

In May's sparkling, eoiil-lit eyes, 
Dwells a world of love and light ; 

Tlier© the child of Eros lies, 
Hid away from mortal sight, 

By a vale of matchless hue, 

Befles. of the heavens' blue. 



And her voice is sweet and low, 
Like the robin's softest strain, 

Or tlie song when zephyrs blow, 
Singing to the summer ndn t 

And the down on thistle-burs, 

Hath no lighter step than hers. 

Then her true and gentle mind, 

Is a SDring of pure desire ; 
Never speaks she word unkind — 

Only kind deeds her inspire : 
Constant love is May s forever- 
Innocence in right endeavor- 
Quiet in gentility. 
Pattern of humility ; 
Frolicsome, but never frantic ; 
Joyful, jocund, ne'er romantic j 
E'er engaging, ever new, 
Ever constant, ever true— 
Generous, and ever free- 
Heart tilled with sweet me'ody : 
All meanness proudly disdaining, 
Suffering e'er without complaining 
Thus to you I picture May— 
Heart as warm as summer day. 

Ever smiling, ever gay. 
Is our darling, winsome Mat : 
In her happy, child-like glee, 
III her warm-heart constancy. 
Prattling in a childish way, 
"From the dawn to close of day, 



MISCELLANEOUS POKMS. 77 

Like an angel in our way, 
Seems onr idol, darling May— 
Seni to cheer U8, and to bleaa. ^ 
With a world of happines-s ! 

Father ! Thy praise we 11 ne'er forget, 
For this, Tliy choicest blessing given ; 

Guide our darling's s nless feet, 
Into the narrow walk of Heaven : 

Have her in Thy tenderest care — 

Thy arms protect, and take her There ! 
L. G. R. 



WHAT DO OUR TEABS AVAIL? 

Peace, peace ! what do our tears avail? 

Why are we weeping ? 
Our dear love, motionless and pale, 

In Death is sleeping ! 
For her, no more pain, gri' f , and wrong— 

No more of sorrow ; 
Eternal love, and sweetest song, 

Makes glad her morrow. 

Her grave we've made in the forest, 

In a shady, mossy dell. 
Where the straggling rays of sunlight, 

At noontide rarely fall : 
We 've made her grave in the forest. 

Where violets love to weep- 
Where the thyme will wave, and meekly 

The trailing \ines will creep. 

The flowers that bend over her grave. 

In odorous death will fade ; 
And the f oreat boughs in their sorrow. 

Will cast a deeper shade : 
We 've made her grave in the forest. 

And loving bands shall spread 



7$ MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

The violet, mos', and dewy rose, 
Around her siulej^s hf ad. 

Like fla*e8 of gold in autumn sere, 

The fading leaves will fall, 
And winds will strew them o'er her grave. 

As mourners spread a pall : 
The winter's snow there too sball drift, 

Heaped lightly on her breast, 
But cold and leathery as the down 

In some deserted nest. 

Spring's tender tears and balmy breath, 

Will melt the frosty spray, 
I'hat falls like an ermine mantle, 

Over the vaee of clay : 
Summer will bring, bright golden hours. 

To circle about the head 
Of the sinless sleeper ; and dewy eve, 

A sigh for our lovely dead ! l. g. r. 



LOVE, LIGHT, POWER. 

There is a Love, the heart to thrill, 
When friends all prove untrue ; 

'T is Love Divine — and potent still, 
The sad soul to subdue. 

There is an Eye that never sleeps, 
Beneath the wings of Night — 

Onr God as ceaseless vigil keeps, 
As when the ean is bright. 

There is a Star that brightly gleams, 
In the blue dome above, 

And cheers us with its silver beams- 
It is the star of Love ! 

There is a Light whose holy spell, 
Life, Hope, and Joy, imparts ; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 79 

It calms the wild, tempestuous swell, 
Of sad and aching hearts ; — 

And Power there is, which conquers death. 

When earth's illusions cease ! 
It is the strong right arm of Faith, 

On which we rest in peace. l. q. b. 



"I AM NOT OLD." 

ON THE 95th BIETHDAY of MRS. SARAH H. 
SMITH, or SODTHINGTON. AUGUST 8, 1871. 

She is " not old," though five-score years 

Have nearly died within her day I 
She is "not old," though youth has passed 

On rapid wing>< away : 
For in her heart a fountain flows, 
Of pleasant thoughts, in sweet repose, 
And kindly, holy sympathy. 
Beams bright as stars in evening sky. 

She is " not old," though lime has set 

His signature upon her brow, 
And furrows plainly there have met, 

Which cares may deepen now : 
Fur Love and Hope a chaplet weaves. 
Of freshest buds and greenest leaves ; 
And in my fancy now I twine. 
Sweet thoughts, like flowers.forthee and thine. 

She is "not old," though weary grown. 

Beneath a weight of years and wo ; 
Though youth is lost, its pleasures flown. 

And age proclaims. " T is time to go ! " 
For bright tho morn its course begun, 

No mists bedim the shining sphere, 
No clouds arise to shade the sun— 

And sweet content reposes here ! 



8o MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 

She is " not old," for in the skies, 

Amid the glad, immortal boweis, 
8tie waits an endless Paradise, 

Where golden Youth is ever ours : 
So, seel" no more earth's bliss to know— 

Ask not whe'-e tran-ient joy is found ; 
Look up ! where sweetest flowers blow — 

Where fieshest blossoms deck tha ground. 

Not old— not young ; but, in His time, 

While green immortelles crown the year, 
To go or stay, alike resigned, 

Life's journey through— in blest prepare ! 
God made us mortals ; His we are — 

The creatures of His gra 'ious hand, 
The o'ljects of His constant care. 

And heirs of the Eternal Lard ! L. Q. B. 



WE HAVE FEET WHEREBY TO CLIMB. 

Not in high places joy abides, 
But in true souls it seeks reposa, 

As heart's-ease pines for warm hill-sides, 
Or lowly vales display the rose. 

We have not wings ; we cannot soar ; 

But we have feet whereby to climb, 
By slow degree '. by more and more, 

The steep declivities of Time. 

As the Egjjitian pupil trod, 
By mystic step, the air, to Heaven, 

So miy we reach the throne of God, 
Walking the way divinely giyen. 

L. G. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



LINCOLN. 

I UEAED the solemn bells that flung 

The mournful tidiugs to the air — 

The tale of horror and despair, 
From nianv a bel ry"s iron tongue, 
I 8 iw the flair he loved so well, 

Rad with the crapes of woe, 
Drooj) heavily and low. 
From dom<:' and mast and citadel, — 
The q'liveiinK lip, and half-suspended breath 
Of him who listened to the tale of death, 

As friend to friend rehearsed 
That crime without a name, abhorred ! accurst! 
Tnd those last hours when slowly ebbed a.vay— 

As mute and motionless he lay, 
The Me of him who since the world began, 
Beat ear.ied tbe title of au Honest Man ! 

To-day the solemn pageant goes, 
1 hat bears him to his last repose. 
As if some midnight cloud had past 

Athwart the noonday sun, and sent 
Its sudden shadow, black aud v-ist, 
Across the frightened continent — 
To-day from forge, and mart, and mill, 
All sound and sign of commerce flits ; 
And in a thousand rooms, 
Amon:i the idle looms. 
Lone Silence like a widow sits. 
And many-fingeied Industry is still I 

Lincoln, kind and just! 
O steadfast to thy trust, 
To keep from death the hope of Liberty I 
Savior of the Republc ! long for thee 
Shall coun less freemen mourn and hold thy 

name 
Revered, beloved, a legacy of Fame! 
II 



82 MISCELLANKOUS POEMS. 

Harli I while a Natiou's lell?: are tolltcf, 
Swinging sonorou!*, 
In iron chorus, 
For a Pe pie's sorrow uncontrolled ! 
Bing ! until the mighty knell is rolled, 
In Ions; reverber.itions manifold, 
O'er prairies wild and sava°:e seas, 
From cliff to cliff, from breeze to breeze. 
Till the last sentry on the far frontier, 
Shall pause upon his lonely beat to ht ar 
The tracklesB forests to the tliunder shiver, 
Of Freedom's echoes, soimdins: on forever! 

Mourn, generous Nation ! mourn for bim 
whose word 
Seemed sometimes quaintly wise and mild— 
The artless language of a <hild, 
Yet sometimes like an Angel's of the Lord ! 
Mourn for the i uler w hose sublime d cre?^, 
Tremeuilous a> a thunder-stroke 
Of righteous retribution, broke 
Those cruel chains, our curse and long di-i- 

grace. 
That bound to hopeless toil a weaker race. 
And made it '" henceforth and forever free I " 
Mourn for the Pilot, whose sagacious eye 
Could on the lurid verge descry 
Rebellion's threatening star— 
Blood-red, and ominous of war; 
And who at last when Treason's storm of 1 at© 

Broke o'n' the Ship of State. 
Sprang to the holm, and with a giant's arm. 
Held her amid the whirlpool-; and the shocts 
Ot maddened surges and of hidden looks, 
Till he beheld the angry tumult cease, 
And brought her without harm. 
Into a port of peace. 
Across those peiilous seas, 
Witu all her colors flying in the breeze ! 

Let the great bells of sorrow toll, 
And the drums in muffled thunder roll, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 83 

For Freedom's martyr, peace unto his soul ! 
I et the sable car roll ( n — 
Slowly toward the setting sun, 
Nobly hath he wrought and wou, 
And on earth his work is done ! 
Whi e the funeral trumpets blow, 
And populous cities oveiflow 
With vast frati rn'ties of woe- 
Bear him on while tl'ousands weep. 
To his long ami lasting sleep. 
From t!ie highest seat on earth, 
To the quiet valley of his birth, 
Bring him temlerly, that here 
The hand of the aVakeniog Year, 
May strew her earliest bl'ssoms on the dust 
Of the wise, the good, the just. 

With trailing banner and with sable plume- 
While the mmic of his dirges, 
Ou the hushed air wails and surges— 

Down the aveimes of lengthened gloom, 
And on to whei-e the miduight torches 
Flare on cmwded piers and porches, 

On from town to town, from sta'e to state, 
Where mourning populations wait 

Hour by hour, and day by day, to show 

All that f^trifken love can now bestow — 
Bear him, our great American, to rest, 
Within the bosom of the glint West! 

But let the fortress from its brazen lips 
Shout to the shuddering ships, 

That the greatly-good die not in vain, 

For treason's star is sunk in black eclipse. 
Never to rise again ! 

O great Backwoodsman, Statesman, Presi- 
dent ! 
If this our loud lament 
Can reach the glorious station where thou 
art — 
Take to thine own great heart 



84 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

The homage and the gratitude we owe t 

We never knew we loved thee so. 
Till fehou didst vanish at the Sniiiing Ga*e, 
Leaving us desolate ! 

Ah me, tne slow revolvirg years 

Shall come again, and go ; 
And stai\s and sea-^ons circle in iheir spheres. 

Perennial as our woe ! 
A&hes to aslies ' but his name 
Shall live in mnsio on the lips of Fame ; 
And year by 3 eat sha 1 patriots come, 

With Youth and tottering Age, to kue 1 
As pilgrims by that hallowed toriib. 

And weeping silently shall feel 

His grandest monument to be 
The praises of the just, the reverence of the 
Free ! h. s. c. 



DEATH. 

Stern, sullen Death, long years hath ndgned. 
With mould, and duet, an i blood enstained; 
Thus life's bright ways are dark with fear, 
For well we know Death lurketh near I 

Death comeih here, Death goe'h there ; 
Death claims his viciims everywhere ! 
Nor old fior voung, nor rich nor poor, 
Is spared his rounds from d lor to door ! 

Death robs us of our fond ones dear — 
I'oth friend-i and khi lie on his bier ! 
Then when bereft of those we cherish. 
Like withered hopes we fade and peri«h. 

Yet Dea'li a sentry is who waits, 

To ope for us God's dizziing gates, 

And onlv to our human eyes. 

Seems drap d hi midanchoh guise ! l. g. k 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 8? 



"ONCE ON A TIME." 

There never was bo mournful dirge, 
or min-trel'- harp or port's rhyme, 

Ab this sad sentence, in which merge 
The buried 3 eirs — '• Once on a time ! " 

The silent Past its oharm recalls — 
It speaks in language strong, sublime ; 

A shadow o'er life's sunshine talis. 
At these weird word:^— "Once oa a time !' 

Once on a time ! '" oh, heart of mine ! 

Near kin h-ed to ' 'There might huve been !' 
Sad syllables, what thoughts are thine ! 

And tongue for lands unknown, unsee.i ! 

' Once on a time," with careless band, 

I sciitered sef^d on desert space ; 
And lo ! the weeds forsook the land, 
And golden fruit gresv in tneir place ! 

Thus, what we do and what we say, 
Though numbered with the fleeting past, 

Endures until the perfect day, 
And shall confrotit us each at last ! 

L. G. R. 



86 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



A WINTER SCENK. 

The grand old pines, witb lofty scorn, 

Smile on the leafless, barren trees, 
And nod their plunaes amid the storm, 

A welcome to the singing breeze : 
Their mi'-thful song is loud and clear, 

As through the wood the wi'd winds fly ; — 
They mind not groans, they mii.d not tears, 

Nor swaying branches' wailing cry ! 
And this their song, 
As they speed along : 

Summer sports are past, 

And Autumn's golden glow ; 
Over all is cast 
The crisp and sparkling snow ; 
But we winds are merry as merry can be, 
As we riot along in our gusty glee '. 
Over the landscape we are sweeping ; 
Into the snow-drifts sli:y peeping ; 
Or else, we visit at dend of night. 
The silvered groves, so pure and white ! 
Then roam the likes and rivers over, 
Bursting sometimes their solid cover, 
And list the j lyous freedom-shout 
Of the plad waters, rushing out — 
Like the shat p shaft by Cupid thrown, 
They upwai-d dart, and q lick are gone ! 
Oh, what a merry life is ours, 
Det-porting with the faery powers, 
Through all the exuberant, jocund hours ! 

It is the Winter's festal night ! 

The earth is robed in ermine light : 

With borealis dancers bright 

In garb of light the sky 's attired, 

As though the dome of heaven were fired 

While on the borders seem to stand 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 87 

A group of heaven's angelic bund, 
Wafting us to the seraph land ! 

How grand to gaze on such a bcene. 
And drink the heavenly beauties in !-— 
Feel Nature breathe, from every part, 
Responsive to our thriliing heart, 
And hear it wing, in sweetest tune. 
In strains responsive to our own. 
Of praises to the Great and Good- 
Ruler ot Time, and God of Love ! 

L. G. R. 



MAY. 



Whence thy delay, 
Oh. queenly May'? 
Gentle zephyrs, 
Foliage gay ; 
Budding branches, flowerftts rare. 
Emerald carpets soft and fair ; 
Thou the loveliest art, confest. 
Of the Grace-, last and best ! 

Soft and light, 

Gay and airy ; 
Blooming bright, 
As any fairy ! 
Brilliant May! descend again ! 
Lovely May! with us remain I 
Do not fly from u^" away — 
Make with us perpetual stay I 
March, thy sister, hath chilling'brealh, 
And April lingered at Winter's death ! 
But thou, sweet maid, hast gentle ways. 
And soft and mild are all thy days ! 
Come, sweet May ! and rove with me, 
Where the loveliest roses be ; 
Where the daisies kiss our feet, 
Where the singing waters meet ; 



88 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Where the birds pipe merrily, 
Where the lamba frisk all the day— 

Let u»> to the fidds away ; 

Nature calls thee, queenly May I 

From soft wind^ and !^unny skies, 

Drink we in sweet harmonies ; 

To the wikhvood we repair, 

Breathino; fiagrance from the air : 

Ihen we tarry on the plains, 

Fie>heaed by the warm spring riuias, 

And. beneath the r )0t8 ot trees, 

Search we pines from out the leaves ; 

Then we pluck the violet, 

And the d.iisy-star so sweet- 
All upon a spring-time day, 
With which to crown thee, queenly May ! 

L. G. R. 



WHAT THOUGH CJL0UD3. 

What though gloomy clouds should lower, 
At the early morning hour ; 
What though tempests black and dread, 
Rite at mid day o'er tliy head ; 
What though siorms and wild winds stay 
E'en until the close of day- 
It" the i^wn but set at night 
In a cloudless sky and bright ? 

What though days of earthly life 

With deep cares and giieTs are rife ; 

What though life's meridian be 

Clouded by adver-ity; 

What though troubhs deep remain, 

Until life begins to wane— 

If our sun but set at even 

'Mid the joys sf^rene of Heaven ? l. g. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 89 



A HEALTH TO CONNECTICUT. 

Now in a pint of " native grape "— - 

(My blessing on the sender !) 
Whose blush is not the kiod that owd« 

The fixing of the vender— 
To hardy old Connecticut, 

A hearty health I render — 
May despois ever fear her name, 

And patriot arms defend her ! 

Howe'er the wrangling factions rage, 

Still true as steel we hail her, 
Srill find on Fame's historic page, 

A record to avail her. 
Till Freedom dies she shall not want, 

True hearts that will not fail her, 
To vindicate her majesty. 

And silence her assailer! 

Shall pumpkin-pie be e'er forgot. 

Or those " Thanksgiving dinners "— 
Where marshaling a houeeiiold host, 

Of hungry saints and sinners, 
Attacking Turkey long and strong, 

At last we ended winners, 
Or only beat retreat to make 

More room, for new beginners? 

Can we forget the good old days. 

Ere homespon bowed to satin — 
When girls were taught the spinning-wheel. 

Instead of doubtful Latin ? 
The deacon's drone ? the parson's queu ; 

The square box- pews we sat in — 
The good old State, and golden time, 

We saw and did all that in ? 

Then here 's to old Connecticut— 
God's benizon upon her ! 
12 



yO MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Who sbows 80 fair a register, 
However we may con her ; 

Lnng may she live ! and long enjoy. 
The fame her worth has woo her— 

Long live to rear her gallant sons 
For posts of trust and honor ! h 



THE WINTER KING. 

The Winter King, with freezing breat^i. 

And stern and wrinkled brow, 
And bl isting wind^, and rushing storm*, 

Comes in his anger now ! 
His chilly breath, and frosty hands. 

Have stopp d the streamlet's flow ; 
And bills and vales, and meadow- lands. 

Are covered deep with snow. 

Now, sadiv sigh the barren trees. 

Encrusted o'er with ice ; 
The frost-sprites come on every breeze, 

To carve with quaint device : 
The landscape, too, is changed amain. 

As though some wizzard's wand, 
Had, waved above earth's broad domaiD^ 

Turned all to taery-land ! 

0, Winter King ! thy reign is ill ! 

Look now, the sombre sun, 
Dipping behind yon western hill, 

Shrouds earth in clouds of dun; 
And yet, O Winter, charms I see. 

In thee, despite thy greeting ; 
Thy glad, long merry nights, give me. 

With true hearts fondly beating. 

And though tihe summer hours have died, 
And autumn's joys are flowa, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 9I 

We '!! close about the wai-m fire- side — 
Be merry with oar own ! 

For this blest hope to us is given- 
Bright days will sonn appear. 

And Winter's dreary reign be o'er. 
When go:dea 8pnng is here ! 

L. G. R. 



HOPE. 

Hope ever oomes on a gentle wingt 

To vi^it our cold and cloudy dime, 
Or stoops her radiant light to fling 

Along the great highway of Time ; 
ABd ever to the human heart. 

It is as sunshine to the flower ; 
It comes to sad souls to impart, 

A sweet and soothing power. 

Hope i» that spot of verdure greenr^^ /*^^ 

Where virtue's loveliest handmaids^ ci5i3e» 
To deck with simple charms the scene, 

And gild the happy life of home : 
How dprk indeed would be the sky — 

{.'ow drear aid dread the droning world ; 
•Hir^w pale the rose-bud's deep' st dye, 

Were Hope's bright banner ne'er unfurled. 

O Hope! tlKiu dearest, first, and best. 

Of glorious dreams to mortals given ! 
Our mourning hearts thou o t hath blest, 

Witn shining robes and pmiles of Heaven ? 
Without ihy bright? and cheering rays. 

To warm and light our mortal path. 
How sad and sorrowful man's da\ s — 

How welcome then the call of Death. 
L. G. R. 



93 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



WE MAY BE HAPPY YET. 

Yet take good heart, though tempests lower^ 
And thy bright hopes all fade away, 

Faith still exerts her gracious power^ 
To gild with radiance each day : 

Bo, take good heart — God reigns above— 
His sun can neither wane nor set ! 

Let nature grow in grace and love— 
We may be happy yet. 

What though dark clouds obscure the light, 
ADd suony hours of day are past : 

What though the sable-shrouded Night, 
Is closing in all nature fast : 

We who have loved through doubts and fears, 
And ne'er gave ear to sad Regret, 

Shall flad some solace for our tears— 
We may be happy yet. 

What though unhappy years have past, 
Since vows were laid on Love's pure shrine ; 

Though severed wide, we meet at last, 
Beyond the stormy verge of Time : 

Now spirit-forms seem waiting near, 
And their soft whisperiDgs linger yet ; 

Though earth's sweet flowers are dead and sere. 
We may be happy yet. 

The stars that gem Heaven's azure dome, 
In whispers low speak peace to me ; 

They tell of a dehghtf ul Home, 
Across Ufe's heaving, storm-tost sea : 

And though on earth we meet with loss 
Of kindred hearts, whom we have met, 

We need not harbor thoughts morose — 
We may be happy yet. 

Ay, by the wandering birds, that find 
A home beyond the rolhng wave, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 93 

Tbongh oft the wind and storm combine, 
To swallow them in some dark grave !— 

By Summer suns, that bright arise, 
Through seas of tears in which tbey set ; 

By Love 8 unfailing prophecies— 

We may be happy yet ! l. a. r. 



THE DYING GIRL. 

I KNOW that I must di«, 

And leave the earth so fair — 
The incense of the flowers, 

That floats upon the air ; , 
No more see sunbeams bright. 

Nor hear the river's flow , 
Nor leaves on dancing branch— 

Oh, pain ! that I must go ! 

I know that I must die ! 

Yet forms are waiting near, 
Who smiles are ange1>sweet, 

With eye3 so deep and clear ; 
My heart it spnngs from earth — 

My thoughts are turned above, 
To gardens fair and bright, 

And life of deathless love ! 

Yet knowing I most die, 

And leave this mortal shore, 
My heart is lighter far, 

Than e'er it was before ; 
Sweet music now I hear. 

As in a holy spell ; 
" Dear Savior ! I come near ! 

Make me thine Asphodel ! '* 



94 MISCELLANEOUS FQKMS. 



CHRIST MA f«. 

BiTTEKLY blows the winter wind. 

Along the crowded street ; 
And wnistles its jigs at nay crazy blind, 

But my child has naught to eat. 

Sounds of music and revel come. 

Born© on the frosty air ; 
And merry is many a pplendid home. 

And deep is my despair ! 

The Rilde i footman waits at the d >or, 
Till the dan.iers are out of breath ; 

But the tottering step of the starving poor, 
Is the frantic dance of de<ith ! 

St tains of the violin and flute. 

From the CoooiG Opera come ; 
Hut tlie faihng voice <>f Want is mute, 

For Mieeiy must be dumb. 

It would trouble my 'ady that lolls at ease. 

In her satiu elbow-chair 
If were heard in the sigh of the icy breeze, 

The wai ing cry of Care. 

It would worry my lord, with his (Jqlicate 
nervfs— 

His horses, his wines, and his gout ;. ~ 
To be told ihat anytling ilse deserves' '^' * 

A thought, but his grand turnout ! 

On his downy rug the lap-dog lies, 
Where the grate so blithely bums ; 

Nor dreams, outside, that a beggar sigha 
For the dainty dish he spurns: 

From many a belfry's g^^lden chime, 
The old. glad anthem ring:s : 



MISCELLANEOUS POKMS . 9^ 



And heavily my heart beat-" time 
To the pendulum as it swings 

And I shrink &nd cower, as the ciowd-t go by, 
To the churches trimmt-d so gay ; 

O, God ! and was it for such as I, 
That CuKisT was bom to-day ? h. 8 c. 



THR PENITENT. 

With years agone bright hopes have flown, 

The dearest joys of youth ; 
Past are the radiant hours which shone 

Bright with the flowers of truth ; 
Fleeting as wind hns been the blissi 

Which made my journey glad ; 
And changing as the summer «ky. 

My path, with clouds o'erspread. 

Many the years I halve misspent. 

And great the error done ; 
Thy Word rejected with contempt, 

Dejpised Thy holy Son ! 
Alas ! the lesson time instils— 

The wisdom s'owly gained ; 
The world with disappointment caills, 

And wjshes unattained ! 

And tears that all too oft will flow. 

Have quenched the fir©-* of joy ; 
The music of my heart is low. 

And memo lies sad annoy ; 
And now, to Him enthroned above, 

My life, my ikil. I give ; 
I seek the fount of perfect love. 

Whence those who drink shall live I 



96 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

False, false indeed ! the world has proYed, 

And life an empty dream ! 
But uow my heart is strangely moved, 

reward yon sparkling stream, 
Whobe waters flow in ceasehss springs, 

From Heavt-n's unfailing fount ; 
Oh had I but an angel's wings, 

To scale that Holy Mount ! 

Accept, good Lord, my contrite heart ; 

O, hearken t . my prayer ! 
Consolt! me, even as Tnv Word 

Toward us doth declare : 
I own Tht judgments all are right. 

Thy sovereign will supreme ; 
O, lift from off my soul its guilt, 

And from all sin redeem ! L.a.t 



A FRAGMENT/ 

Oh, Nature ! solace of my heart '. 

In thee my noblest joy I find ; 
For always beautiful tbou art, 

And unto those who love thee, kind. 

Great Mother I deepest truths are thine ! 

Thy pages make ihy children wise ; 
When Spring re-clothes the leafless vine, 

Or Bummer lightning stripes the skies, 

Or seas are vex' by Autumn storms. 
Or Winter leaves bestrew the sod ; 

I se^, in all thy varied forms. 
The mystic glory of a God ! h. s. c. 



Oh, sweet and pretty is Cabbie Lee— 
Pretty indeed, as pretty can be ; 
But what care I how pretty is she. 
So 1 »Dg as she V no pretty for me ! 



MISCEIXANKOUS POEMS- p7 



SEA VOICES, 

By the amber light 
Of the magic moon, 
I sat by the Bmumer sea, 
And listened long witn a strange delight, 
At eight, in the leafy month of June, 
To 1^ tEy&tic rune of its ceaseless tune, 
And its marvelous melody ! 

And I fancied I heard as in a dream, 
The wandering words of a singular thera^e— 
The sound of a sad, subdued refrain, 
Coming and going and coming again— 
' 'Mortal, trouble ceases never, 
But I, the sea, am the same forever, 
I am the Spirit of the Sea : 
Whoever the moaarchs of earth may bla, 
They never can conquer me ! 
Tremendous Ocean's boundless plain 

Is my supreme domain ; 
And proudly my foamy plumes are curled, 
Throughoot the Zon-s of the whirling World !'^ 

strange and rare, 
Are my mansions fair, 
Glittering palaces under the seal 
In might and majesty there I dwell. 
Where the floors are paved with the red sea- 
shell. 
Which the yellow-haired mermaids bring to 
me! 
And I laugh to see their wild eyes glisten, 
As they lean from their bowers, 
Of green sea-flowers, 
And swaying, float on their sides to listen 
To the stormy harmonies they love. 
The plunge of the breakers far above ! 

13 



98 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Treasures untold, 

Of the wrecks of argosies of old— 
Wonderful pearls and coffers of gold, 

With Indian gems from throne and shrine, 
And opulent plunder of heathen wars, 
Jn mv coral avenues flash and shine, 
And lighten the pho^horescent shades 
Of my glimmering emerald arcades,^ 
With the deathless splendor of tinted stars ! 

Mine — all mine ! 
For what are the tings of earth to toe ? 
For I am the Spirit of the Sea ! 

Washing the shores 
Of the green Azores, 
Where the league-long surf fordver roats ; 
Or where on Iceland's rocty walls, 
My ponderous Titan-thunder falls ; 
Or where in indolent tropic calms, 
I lave the feet of the boly palms. 
Ebbing and flowing, 
Coming and going. 
I am the same ! and hold through time, 
My Empire, peerless and sublime ! 
Whoever, whatever the kings hiay be 
Of the arrogant earth, I am the Sea ! 

H. S C. 



THE TWO ROBINS. 

A BED-BBEAsr flat by an orchard's edge, 
Singing, "Heigh ho! I'm Robia ! " 
When he spied an urchin under the hedge, 
To the farmer^e apples iJying seige. 
And he knew it was wrong, 
But continued his song- 
Singing, "Heigh ho! he's robbin' I " 

H. S. C. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 99 



THK LORD'S PRAYER. 

Fatheb of Light, of Life, of Love ! 
Who rarat the rolling worlds above ; 
The First, the Last, and e'er tbe same 
Forever hallowed be Thy name ! 
In Rlory let Thy kingdom come ; 
Lead Thoii the wandering sinner home ; 
And, the glad song in Heaven begun, 
Bid earth prolong ; Thy will be done ! 
Give us each day our daily bread ; 
Teach us in wisdom's path to tread ; 
And, should we dare Thy wrath provoke, 
In mercy spare tbe vengeful stroke : 
Forgive our angry passions strong, 
As we forgive each other's wrong ; 
Nor let the Tempter's wiles aJarm. 
But shield us from ail threatened harm ; 
Thou graciooB God ! to Thee be given, 
All power and praise, in earth and heaven. 

L. O. R. 



THINGS I LOVE. 

I LOVE to muse on by-gone years, 
And things which early life displayed ; 

To dwell on hopes, and joys, and fears, 
-Long sank is Time's oblivious grave. 

I love to tread the eaored ground, 

Where rest the ashes of the just- 
To read from every rising mound. 
Thesto^of their holy dust. 

I love to think •f friends whose forms 
Sleep sweet beneath the daisy sod— 

Whose spirit?, safettom earthly storms, 
Rest in the dear embrace of God. 



lOO »nSCELLANE0U6 POfiMS. 

I love to soar in fancy's dream, 
To worlds unknown to mortal strife - 

Where fadeless suns of glory beam. 
And Death is swalbwed up in Life ! 

L. G. R 



NATURE'S TRUEST NOBLEMAN. 

ThE man who lives tor others' good, 

And strives his land to save, 
And who, to save his country, would 

Dare face a soldier's grave, 
Is nature's truest ndbleman, 

And bom of princely blood ; 
The starry jewel on his breast. 

Is from the hand of God ! 

He who exerts his fullest powers, 

To help the weak and poor ; 
In wretched days takes sunny hours, 

To Penury's gloomy door ; 
Who feeds the faint and starving child, 

Wipes tears from sorrow's cheek ; 
Hears God's command, in accents mild, 
" Help ye the poor and weak";— 

Who live3 to bless the human race, 

And minds not Fortune's smile — 
May look death calmly in the face. 

Unknowing guilt or guile : 
For he is nature's noblenran. 

And born of princely blood ; 
The starry jewel on his breast, 

Is from the hand of God ! l. a. b. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



THE VIOLET. 

Delicious violet ! 
Thine odors touch my memory and brain, 
And ope, with magic key, the Past again,— 

Time's wondrous cabinet 1 

Ye lowly worshipper ! 
So humble bent in prayer, at dewy morn- 
Mosaic bright, whose beauties rare adorn 

Nature's vast theatre ! 

How often, modest flower, 
I mark thy tender blossoms when they spread 
Along the turfy slope their starry bed, 

Hung heavy with the shower ! 

'T is but a few brief days. 
Since first the green hill pierced its fold of snow! 
And now thy slender stems arise and blow. 

In April's fitful rays ! 

Sweet flower ! thou tell'st of hearts 
That, pure and tender as thy leaf — as low 
And humble as thy stem— will surely know 

The joy that Peace imparts ! 

L. O. R. 



PEACEFUL HIS REST. 

He sleeps in Jesus, and is blest ; 

His toils and cares are ended now ; 
In seraph arms he finds his rest— 

And glory's diadem decks his brow. 

In stilly watohes of the night, 
The angels bore him to the skies ; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And while we thought with us he dwelt, 
He post the gates of Paradise ! 

Though loving hearts are bowed with grief 
That his bright star so soon should wane, 

We would not win him back to life. 
To share its sorrows and its pain. 

Oh for strong faith and light, to see 
Across the dreamless, silent grave, 

How radiant our loved ones be, 
in the immortal life they have ! 

L. G. R. 



A BE VERY. 

There 's beauty in the summer sky, 

Whan grandly from its ocean bed, 
Like a strong man refreshed by sleep, 

Proudly the sun uplifts its bead ; 
And when behind the western hills, 

At eventide so still he goes, 
How lovely are the crimson clouds. 

That drape bis visionless repose. 

Now languid forms rise to my sight. 

My brain throbs wild, its pulses bound ; 
I drink of rapturous delight — 

My soul entranced, with sweetest sound 
Delightful incense fills the air. 

Weird music on soft winds go forth ; 
While we, the creatures of Hi^ cajre. 

Drink blessings from the ringing earth. 

And now so soft the moonlight gleam?. 
In beauty through the forest bowers, 

While everywhere its fairy beams 
Rest like a maiden's kiss on flowers ! 



MlSdftLLANEOUS POfiMS. I03 

For one great Father reigns above, 
And one blest hope to us is given— 

If here we lose the friends we lovtt, 
We yet shall find them safe in heaven. 

L. G. ft. 



MY BOYHOOD DAYS. 

My boyhood days— my boyhood days- 

Oh, were ye mine once more. 
With all thj sweet and winning ways, 

That erst life gilded o'er ; 
For, as I look through years of strife, 

I hear youth's melting strain ; 
Its eager joys, its pcflsing life, 

Fill every swel'ing vein ; 
And as, in old familiar walks, 

With buoyant feet I trea^, 
The Past a 'spectral phantom stalks, 

And graves unearth their dead ! 

Sweet boyhood days ! e'en now I feel 

Ihy warm and ardent glow ; 
And glimpses bright to me reveal, 

Her golden ringlets' flow : 
Once more I peem in spell entranced. 

And ela&ped in love's embrace ; 
Again her heaven-blue eyes are raised, 

In gladness to my face : 
Bui oh ! Death early set his seal 

Upon her saintly brow ; 
Yet far above my lonely ways 

She sings, an angel now ! 

How oft beneath the spreading oak, 
In spring I soacl t retreat. 

To bear the carol of the birds, 
Or Iflmbkins' pattering feet ; 

Or then, above the budding wof«d, 
The cburch-belld caught my ear ; 



I04 MiSCELLANEOUS POBMa. 

And made the bliaeful solitude, 

A home of praise and prayer ! 
Oh, full of ecetacy those da>8 — 

The brightest of my life ! 
So full of visionarj rays. 

And gleams of Paradise I 

But uell I know those halcyon days, 

Can nevermore return ; 
No more their eager, thrilling joys, 

Shall hi my bosom burn : 
Yet when aflfection's severed hands, 

United are again ; 
And joined once more are friendship's band^ 

Aud true-love':i broken chain ; — 
When the Death-angel shal' restore, 

The sleepers Iroin the sea ; 
Then, in a Land of fadeless stars, 

Our endless Youth will be I l. a. R. 



EARTH'S PLEASURES AND HOPES. 

Eauth's joys are a shadowy dream , 
Its hopes as the tenderest flower ; 

Though now Ireah and lovely the.y seem, 
They are faded aud dead in an hour. 

Our life is as fleet as a breath— 
'T is a tran-ient and vapor-like ray ; 

All natme is born unto death, 
And man but appears to decay ! 

But jiys there ai'e which are sure ; 

And hopes which will ne'er pass away ; 
There 's a Life which will ever endure, 

In the light of infinite day I l. g. r. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I05 



THE OLD PINE. 

Like some tall chieftain left alone, 

When all bis race is dead, 
High o'er the ever-murmuring sea, 
Crng-fasteoed firm, the old Pine Tre«, 

Still lifts its hoary head. 

The kingly qualities that made 

His fallen fathers grand, 
In him with triple force are • et, 
Loid of a ravaged realm, but yet, 

A monarch in the land ! 

Their sturdiness of heart and blood, 

And iron-tibred limb, 
With all their aggregated strength, 
Down lessening lines descend at length, 

To culminate in him ! 

Unfaint he takes the Summer sun. 

Or wrestles with the gale, . 
When the hoarse tempeet chafes the main, 
Aod hail stones rain, like frozen grain, 

From Winter'8 iron flail ! 

Religions empires, centuries, 

Decay and rise again ; 
The woild rolls on, and fortunes etrang©, 
Of chance, and acciden*^^, and change, 

Disturb the ways of men ; 

Unmoved above the shifting scene. 

He stands serene, sublime ! 
Clotlied with enduring powers to mock 
The heaving frost, the earthquake's shock, 

And hardly touched by time. h. s- c, 
14 



I06 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



VAIN WORLD. 

Gatheii ye rosebuds of the May— 
Their fragr.mce soon will pa?8 away ; 
Or m:^rk how soon in Time's flest glass, 
The diamond sparkles quickly pass ; 
Or see, amazed, the nightly march 
Of rushing orbs through heaveu's arch ; 
Or look with wonder on tlie sun- 
More high, its course is quicker run! 

Alas, vain world ! transparent cheat ! 
Thy words aud aims are but deceit ! 
Placid thy brow, aud tair thy cheek ; 
Yet only surface deep within — 
Thy heart is hideous with sin ! 

Thou hast not power to give delight ; 
Thy favors few— thy blessing slight ; 
Empty thy boasts, vain thy rewards. 
False aud affected thy regards ! 
Betrayed, who on thy word relieth, 
And fool, who with thy wi-;li complieth I 
False bounty thou to man siipplyeth. 

The child of Penury forlorn, 

Has felt thy cold neglect and scoin ; 

Thy slanderous tongue, with venomed dart 

Has pierced too oft a gaileless heart ; 

The pures<t .spirit, bowed in anguish, 

'Mid thy green paths must droop and languish 

Thy mockerieo, thy woes, thy strife. 

Make aye a wilderners of life ! 

Thou stalk'st in pride !— along thy way, 
Brigtit eyes grow dim, fair locks grow gray ! 
To the yuiing love, so pure, bo f^ir, 
Thou giv'st one kiss— the saal of Care ! 
Raieing thy wand, lo ! tower and wall, 
Aud shrines of hope in ruin fall ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I07 

Thou art a reaper !- nations pass 
Beneath thy scythe, like blades of grass ] 
Thou art a torrent— d«ep and wide, 
Engulfing all who dare thy tide— 
Thou bearest to the whiilpool's side, 
The heroes and the hopes of pride ! 

O Earth ! th' u art a splendid cheat! 
Stupendous fraud, and fair deceit ! 
When sweet thy smiles, 
More deep thy wiles ! 
Thy pearls but chaff, 
When light thy laugh I 
What is the goal of greatest pleasure ? — 
Is it to gather gold and treasure ? 
Is it to gain of weight and measure ? 
Or hoarding opulent supply ? 
No ! all of these mock the Most High ! 
No ! all of these make life a lie ! 
But true delight, 

A nd lasting pleasure, 
Through actions right, 
And bra^e endeavor, 
Come to us in the shades of night, 
And fill our souls with endless light — 
While love to Gjd and human kind, 
Te cich us a perfect peace to find ! 

L. G. R. 



LOVE THY MOTHER. 

Love and cherish thou thy mother ! 
In her glance^ thou muy'st ste 
Her deep and earnest love for thee- 

Love her moie than any other ! 

Think, that when thou wert a child. 
She assuaged thy sorrowing tears, 
And calmed thy many idle fears, 

With a patient care and mild. 



X08 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Think, that when thou older grew, 
She wa*cbed with care tliy wayward youth, 
Led thee in paths of .«acied iruth — 

Taugbt thee all the good thou knew. 

Love and cherish thou thy mother ! 

Let thy prayers to Heaven ascend. 

For thv nearest, dearest friend- 
Best of Heaven's gifts— thy mother ! l. a. b. 



HOPE AND FEAR. 

Hope peers beyond the sunset gate. 
And sees Heaven ope, with clearest eye ; 

In Sorrow's sombre vale we wait, 
Till Love translates us to the sky. 

But Fear is like the clouds that shed 
Their shadows o'er the summer sky ; 

When life is freshest, gloom and dread 
Of grief, is ever lurking nigh. 

Foreboding Fear, with frowning face. 
Dispels life's sweet and sunny smiles, 

Till clear Hope comes, with winsome grace, 
And cheers our way with winning wiles. 

Where the bright wells of gladness spring, 
Hope will the youthful heart decoy ; 

But Fear is hovering tliere, to fling 
A shadow o'er the path of joy. 

A i-ainbosv never spans the sky. 
But some dark spirit of the storm, 

With sable plume, is always nigh, 
To shroud its light and fairy form. 

Life's pathway lies 'mid smiles and tears— 
Ihe wedding peal — the funeral toll ; 

Bu* though o'ershadowed still by fears, 
Hope is the sunlight of the si'ul! h. o. i 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. IO9 



RE8URGAMU8. 

Think of the dead, but not of the gloom 
That creepetk round the lonely tomb ; 
Visit the places they loved on earth, 
Now nonse?,rate to vanished worth : 
There 's a raourniul sweetness in thinking o'er 
The loved ones who dwell on Heaven's bright 
shore ! 

Think of the dead : let it soothe the heart, 
Though the brea?t will heave, and the tears 

will start. 
When Memory scans the leaves of the Past, 
For beings too fair on earth to la>-t. 
But finds that the links of the household 

chain. 
By an angel's hand are broken in twain I 

Think of the dead — but wish them not back. 
To tread with thee life's devious track : 
But be content on earth to dwell, 
Till Heaven's messenger breaks the spell, 
And the Future unveils itself to thee, 
And discloses the glorious my>teiy ! 

Yet there are no dead! for when thou art 

gone. 
There are those, although they be sad and 

lone. 
Who will speak thy name in their happiest 

hours— 
Who will read thy books, and cull thy flowers, 
And sigh for the time to come when they 
Shall join thee in lands of endless May ! 

Think of the dead, on Heaven's shore. 
Where sin and sorrow's reign is o'er : 
List the soft music of seraph choii's, 
Like strains of angels' golden lyres ; 



no MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

See palqli-trees waving in mellow light ; 
See thornless roses forever bright ; 
See the tree of U(e ; and, on flowery sod, 
The bright and shining Throne of God ! 

Frees eager onward, earth-worn soul ; 
To rest supreme earth's waters roll ! 
Thy feet are hastening to the goal ! 

Or when God's angel ridcth by, 

Why say, " 'T is Death ! " and sadly sigh ! 

'T is death to Uve ; 't is Life to die ! 

L. G. R. 



IN THE TWILIGHT. 

In twilight's calm and peaceful hours, 
My wayward fancy loves to stray — 
More balmy than the early day, 

Or fragrant than the breath of flowers. 

And now I bid all care be gone, 
And turn my thoughts to things above, 
And think of thiogs I dearly love, 

And mu3e on scenes the Past has known ! 

And years of chiklhood I review, 
When care was stranger to my breast, 
And all conspired to make me blest. 

Ay, tears of sorrow then wore few ! 
For friends were tender, tried and true, 
And all was calm as Heaven's restl 

L. G. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



TRUANT MAY. 

Whither away, O truant May ? 
Thy sunbeams bright should gild the day ! 
So ill the morn, this can't be May ' 
For see ! the sun is hid away ! 

whence, I ask from out the gloaming, 
Has May the queenly, gone a-roaming ? 

Through woods I went ; then climbed the hills; 
Then lipgerina: near the rippling rills, 

1 sought in vain the buttercup. 
Whose sunny face with smiles looks up ; 
I called the sweetest flowers by name, 
But to my ear no answer came ; 

I searched each quiet, shady spot, 

For wiid-rose and forget-me-not ; 

For snowy bells of guilderose ; 

For faery woodbine trumpet-blows ; 

For modest primrose, pale with foar ; 

For liird's-eye, bright as sapphire btar ! 

For rsemary- remembrance true ;— 

For pansits— and for fragrant rue. 

'•Ay, sure," said I, " tbis brook beside, 

The vrlvet violet must hide " I — 

But all my se irch in vain alas ! 

Nil flower from all the springing grass ! — 

The cowslip, cncus, columbine ; 

The daisy, daffy, cl/antine - 

The violet, s ow-drop, hawthorn-tree. 

Fox-glove^ blue-bell, anemone— 

Ot all the flowers, so fine and gay, 

Not one I found in all my way ! 

This sure is not our aunny May— 
Our blooming, balmy, rosy May !. 
Where does my queenly lady stay ? 
Why nides she thus herself awaj- ? 
Oh, hither hasten, regal May ! 



112 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

All on a waim and winsome day, 
Come drive the gloomy clouds away ! 
Dear May — sweet May— so gay and airy, 
In bright attire come like a fairy ! 

L. G. R. 



ULTIMA THULE. 

1 HAD a vision when the moon was high, 
And blind old Midnight, like a banished god, 
Who strives to find some route, however hard, 
So it be sure, back to that former state, 
Where once he shone, clomb with assiduous 

feet. 
Picking his devious, disconsolate way, 
Up a sad segment of the oblique sky. 

1 seemed to roam in an enchanted Isle 
Benighted, unconjectured, and remote, 
Tormented round by gray, tempestuous seas, 
I im, perilous, where vessel never sailed, 
Lying beyond the confines of the world. 
It was a fallen realm of landscapes wild, 
Of dreary lakes, plateaus and terraces, 
And rock-iidged promontories, worn by 

storms — 
Tortured by earthquake and by avalanche, 
Into the semblance of fantastic towers, 
And ruinous battlements, that seemed the 

homes 
Of those nnearthly shapes, the reslmg brain 
Conceivi s in lunacy, of Phantom-ijand. 
And there is neither rest nor anything 
That givet< the heart of man to taste of peace ; 
But perturbation weird and dire disturbance, 
Dismal disaster, discord and despair, 
A drear domain of discontent and death. 

I stood upon a toppling pinnacle — 
A black, basal ic, overhanging crag, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 1 13 

That trembled te the thunderous vibration 
Of headlong sea-shocks dashed against its 

base, 
With jar tremendous as when mighty Thor 
Brings down his hammer, and the icebergs 

crack 
In sciBtiratins: ruin round the Pole. 
On such a beetling precipice I stood, 
And gazed upon that witchland scenery. 
Gierantic forests rent by hurricanes, 
Tossing their gaunt . esticulating arras, 
Like mournful skeiecons to the pitiless heav- 
ens. 
Made awful noises and a crashing sound. 
Forever, in that ancient solitude. 
Along the cavernous gorges and ravines, 
Where the Winds wandered, blowing hollow 

tunes. 
A frantic liver raved and whirled in foam, 
And moaning swayed wi h raultiiudinous mui^ 

inurs, 
And an impetuous sweep from side to side ; 
And shuddered as it threw itself at length, 
Into the chasmal hollows of the earth. 
Making a dismal music to the moon — 
The moon herself, that looked so wearied out, 
And seemed so old, dej- cted and decayed, 
As she would drop from out the marble sky, 
And quench her faded, insufficient light. 
In blind oblivion, and to rise no more. 

An an-ow's flight from off the looming shore, 
A whirlpool jagged with iron headed rocks, 
Black, threatenmg, and implacable as fate, 
Eotated horribly and gurgled hoarse ; 
Like some enormous water-beast, who shows 
His hui gry-fatal teeth, and froths for food. 
And still with wide dilated eyes I gazed 
In fearful wonder for new scenes to come — 
Confusion's climax ! Darkness hid the moon. 
15 



114 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

In the torn edges of the inky clouds 
Incessant lightning played, and all at once 
Volleys of thunder broke athwart ihe skies. 
Explosive, solid rumbling, as if were fallen 
The adamantine parapets of Heaven. 
Toppled to chaos ! and the granite cliffs 
Reeled to their rock foundations oscillaut. 
And Echo startled from her hundi ed caves 
Ran shrieking through long gorges to tlie sea. 
Great whirlwinds blew ! yet statne-like I 

looked, 
As one who walks in dreams, nor apprehends 
External danger, while his ebul is rapt 
In vague phantasmagorias, half asleep. 

Then seemed it thH the unquenchable ttan 

went mad ! 
Some shot to outer darkness and expired; 
And some exploding, into comets broke. 
And rushing in far coruscation, streamed 
Through startled constellations infinite. 
In orbits incomputable by man. 
And while 1 gazed with faculties entranced 
The burning mountain shook itself and 

yawned — 
Disparting' wide, deluging night with fire. 
And casting far across the seething sea 
Red leagues of splendor. Then the forests 

crashed. 
And white with foam the roaring vortex spun, 
Drowning the rocks. 

The rest is mystery : 
For the wild trouble of the elements. 
Touched my dazed brain with horror and I 

woke, 
As Morning drave her ruby-flashing wheels 
Along the dappled and impearled East ; 
And from the dewy fields upsprang the lark, 
Thrilling the sunshine with his ecstacy 1 

H. s. c. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS II5 



EVENING BY THE SEA. 

The earth below, the heavens above, 
Are perfumed with undying love ; 
All things that live, where'er they be. 
In Heaven or earth— on land or sea- 
Breathe sweetest songs, as fresh as free, 
Attuned to softest melody. 

O'er troubled breast of ocean's wave 
Night spreads her gloomy wings. 
And pensive thought and silence brings ; 

And here, where silvery waters lave 
The pebbled beach and sounding shore. 
Like" thing of life the strong waves pour : 

Then sighing sadly as they go. 

Still onward in their ceaseless flow, 
Ever and ever to the sea. 
As souls glide to eternity ! 

Now high in heaven's starry dome. 
The smiling moon in pride has come ; 
She sails o'er fields of faintest blue — 
The mild stars peer her lustre through ; 
So soft and beaming is her face- 
So gentle is her winning grace, 
That every orb revolving high. 
And shedding lustre o'er the sky, 
Is raptured with her queenliness— 
Entranced with her loveliness ! 

Here, by the wild and wailing wave, 

On shores that fitful waters lave ; 
Here, where the mariner's low voice 

Swells faintly on the passing gale, 
Or where the s jreaming sea-gulls poise 

O'er the tall masts and swelling sail ; 
Bounding the gray gleam of the deep, 

When Fancy's forms arouse the mind, 



Il6 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

Dark sweep the coaits on whose rude steep, 
Sighs the sad Spirit of the wind ! 

Sweet is its voice upon the air. 
At evening's melancholy close, 
While the smooth wave in silver flows ; 

Sweet, sweet the psalm, its lowly accents bear! 

Blest be thy shade, O Night ! and blest the song 
Thy low winds breathe the distant shores 

along ; 
No angry breeze disturbs the bl'ssful scene, 
But all is deepest love and peace serene! 

L. G. R. 



A TIGER-LILY. 

Or life my love a riddle makes, 
All sweetness when I please her, 

A lily when the whim she takes, 
A tiger when I tease her ! 

With kisses oft of shy surprise. 

She smiles in fond lo\e-languor ; 
Sometmies with frowns and flashing eyes. 

She looks superb in anger I 

A checkered path of glooms and gleams, 

Fate to our path hath given ; 
One half our life a jungle seems, 

The rest a little Heaveu. 

With words as sharp as claws, she tears 
My heart-strings, all unheeding, • . ^j 

Then sooths me with her lily airs. 
And music of her pleading. 

O lily fair • O tiger-pet I 

Whatever mood may hold you, 

A double-love must sway me yet, 
And to my bosom fold youl n. s. c. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. II7 



LOOK EVER ON THE BRIGHTESf SIDE. 

If through this darksome world of ouis, 
Would'st have thy pathway stiewn with 

flowers ; 
Or o'er each thorny field of time, 
Would'st have the sun in brightness shine ; 
Or calmly on life's sea would ride, 
Look ever on the brightest side. 

Would'st thou enjoy each fair, bright thing, 
Like fragrant flowers of early spring ; 
Would'st hear with joy the feathered throng, 
Their notes to cheer, the live day long ; 
Would Natures pleasures e'er abide— 
Look ever on the brightest siae. 

Or would'st thou make the most of life— 
The pathway shun of sin and strife ; — 
If lov'st to gaze on stars of night, 
Resnlendent with celestial light ; 
If thou would'st sail on troinc tide. 
Look ever on the brightest side. 

If thou would'st drink the dews of love, 
That ever bless us from above ; 
Would'st bask in brightest beams of morn, 
In sunshine soft, apart from storm ; 
Would'st o'er great seas of glory glide. 
Look ever on the brightest side. 

L. G. R. 



Il8 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



THE DEW-DROP. 

A TINY dew-drop, on a flower. 
Hung trembling o'er a shining stream, 

And sparkled like a diamond pure, 
In the bright morning's glowing beam. 

By freshened bank and flowery vales. 

Ihe babbling brook w.h onward borne, 
While every rippling nil with tales 

Of wel ome hailed the rosy morn. 

The dew-drop heard the waters glide 
With silvery sound, so sof*, along, 

And eighed to slumber on its tide. 
And join its simple, soulful song. 

But a belated beim, yet bright, 

Dropped down from out the heavens high, 
And wafted on its wings of hght. 

The dew-drop to tbe sheeny sky. 

So Youth, its soul surcharged with song, 
And eye that glows with young love's gleam 

Like truant dew-drop drives along, 
Adown life's sparkling, winding stream. 

Its waters, in a \> inning way, 
With rippling roll ride restless by. 

Nor cloud dispels the dawning day, 
Nor shade steals o'er it's sombre sky. 

'Alid smiling scenes 'neath sunny skies, 
He hears sweet strtiins of soulful song ; 

His heart, like restless dew-drop, sighs 
To join the festive, jocund throng. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. II9 

Or rough the road, rugged or rude 
The pathway paved with plenteous peace, 

His soul repines for solitude, 
And happy calm in realms of ease. 

brimming tears I bedew bright bowers ! 

O heavy heart ! how hard to pray I 
O fresh and fragrant flush of flowers— 

So soon, like Youth, to pass away ! 

On dewy wings of dawning day, 
Death folds him to its beating breast. 

And bears his sleeping soul away, 
In Paradise to peaceful rest ! 

L. G. R. 



AMOR TYRANNUS. 

Oh ! gentler than a Fairy creeps 

Into a moonlit flower, 
Love slides into the heart that sleeps, 

And hardly shows his power. 

But there, a tyrant grown, in vain 

His fortress we assail ; 
The despot laughs at all our pain, 

And all our struggles fail. 

Too late we learn, at fatal cost, 

How impotent we are ; 
When Caution slumbers at her post. 

And leaves the door ajar 1 

H. s C 



I20 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

IN MEMORIAM. 

EDMUN'D PAKKER, DIED APRIL 19, 1866. 

Oh, who can tell why the brave oak should 
perish, 
And the meek violets f.mile along the vale ; 
Why of our hopes, the holiest we cherish, 
Should fade like buds chilled by October's 
gale ! — 
Or why the btaflf and beautiful rod must be 
Broken so mourufully ! 

Sad is their fate ! to mark morn's bright re- 
turning. 
Yet feel the shadows deepening round their 
heart ! 
To watch the varying sea8on8, meekly learn- 
ing 
How much of wo earth's changes can im- 
part ! 
To seek strong hearts whereon our own may 
lean. 
Finding Death's void between ! 



Yet murmur not ; our Father guards the 
treasure 
Ye vainly sought to hold in mortal clay ; 
Enfranchised, holy, in seraphic pleasure, 

Hi- heavenly years e;lide peacefully away ! 
Ours is the loneliness, despair and pain ; 

His the Eternal Gain ! l. q. r. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. S2S 



DECOEATION. 

Bkight wreaths, fresh flowers, fair • 
White or red roses, rare, 
To-day we bring ; 
Ashen-veiled, and dumb, and stricken, 
Anguished hearts rebound and quicken ; 
Kneehng down beside our dead, 
Who for Freedom fought and bled. 
We kiss cold hps whose souls have fled I 

Sweet flowers we strew, in all our way-^ 
The buds and blooms of vernal May ; 

While warm tears flow, for love laid low, 
And sad souls sigh, that these should die, 
And dimmed in death the lustrous eye. 

And chilled Afl'ection's fervent glow ! 

LiUes and roses, violets blue, 
Pansies and pinks, once more we strew, 
And vernal vines, and greenest leaves, 
We scatter in these solemn hours : 
But sweeter than the scented flowers, 
That yield their subtle fragrance rare. 
Or dev/y rose, or lily fair, 
The germs that in our fond hearts live ;-^ 
Like the dear di-eams of vanished years, 
That fill our eyes wi^ freshest tears. 
This perfume of dilr hearts we give. 

Silent and sad and slow. 
We walk the way of wo. 
While pilgrim hearts, 'mid smiles and tears, 
Unearth the smouldering griefs of years. 
Down Sorrow's cheek sweet tears shall creep, 
For all that mourning love endears, 
As yt ar by year this day appears ! 
Weep not for those who fell asleep, 
i6 



122 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

Tempted, but undefiled, 

With dust so reconciled ! 
Weep not for those, who from the tomb. 
Have found repose of Palm-Land's bloom ! 

We weave green wreaths above each patriot 
head, 
A coronet of gems of golden deed ; 
We strew fresh blossoms around their conqiier- 

ing feet, 
And spices bruise, exhaling perfume SAveet, 
To mingle mth the sacred tears that greet 
Oui- sainted dead ! 
And then Ave hATiin th*? deeds sublime, 
Which through the panoramic ages 
Of patriots, and saints and sages, 
Illume the chronicles of Time ; 
In clearest not^s. and sweetest sound, 
That through long cycles shall resound ! 

And thus in thoughts of those Ave loved. 
Oar hearts with joy and grief are moved ; 
We mus'3 on scenes of by-gone tim'% 
When hours rolled on in rhA'thmic rhymo, 
Like singing cadences of song, 
That glicL' in numbers soft along ; 
While bright st angels, from above, 
Lean doAvn to earth. AA'ith yearning love, 
To bear our d- ad to Heaven's clime. 

O ye crimson-pctaled roses, 
Weep thy dcAvs Avhere Truth reposes ! 
And, ye patriot heroes martATed, 
Count your lives not dearly bartered ! 
'T Avas a costly gift ye gave— 
Flower of Youth, the Flag to save ! 
Yet from your graves acclaim upspriuging. 
Through all the land to-day is ringing : 
" Who died his fellow -man to save. 
Still lives in Love beyond the grave ! " 
L. G. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 1 23 



CLOISTER. 

Oil ! f( r the bright and happy hours, 

When, hke a wanton stream, 
My spirit caught, from earth and sky, 

The hght of every beam ; — 
When, if into my laughing eye, 

A tear-drop chanced to start, 
'T was banished in a moment by 

The sunshine of the heart ! 

I 'm musing on the merry Past — 

The Spring-time of my hf e— 
When every tone of wind and wave, 

With melody was rife ; — 
When all youth's hopes and promises — 

The rainbows of my sky — 
Sprang forth in fairy visions, 

Before my beaming eye ! 

My heart is with the rippling rill, 

That murmurs round the home 
Where erst my hps were taught to speak, 

My tiny feet to roam : 
I hear sweet songs of happy birds — 

The whisperings of the breeze. 
That wafts the faint breath of the rose, 

And fragrance from the trees ! 



How many moumfial memories 

Steal sadly through my mind, 
Like spirit-voices borne along 

Upon the wandering wind ! 
And backward led by thought again, 

I almost seem to trace 
In each sweet flower, and shrub, and tree, 

Some fond familiar face ! 



1^4 MISCELLANEOUS F0EM5. 

As through the shadowy sunshine soft- 

When day is sweetly dj-ing, 
Through tranquil atmospheres aloft, 

The dove is homeward tiyiug, 
To rest : so I, could I but borrow 

Its wings, would fly away 
From haunts of care and haunts of sorrow, 

To realms of restful dav ! 



Like the lorn legend ancients tell us, 

Earth losses sure are found ! 
Tlie sun shines still as erst in Hellas, 

On Temples glory-crowned ! 
With praying long,"^ and longer waiting, 

In lone, love-laden Past, 
The sunny hopes so sweet creating, 

Surely should sweetly last ! 

'T is thought because I smile on all, 

That I am vain and gay ; 
That by the world's light flattei-y, 

I have" been lured astray : 
They know not that my heart oft breathes 

Its secret grief in sighs — 
That sad songs tremble on my lips. 

And tear-drops in mine eyes. 

Each heart its secret chamber hath. 

Than locks more f astly sure ; 
And here its skeleton is hid — 

Its griefs, its tears immure : 
You may not find the hidden spring — 

The secret of the door ; 
Its saddest son'ow. sharpest pain. 

Is sacred in its store ! 

Peace, peace, sad soul ! and cease thy quest ! 

Haste home — nor longer roam 
Afar in search of peaceful rest ! 
There are no birds in last year's nest " — 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Why sboiild thy footstep wander. 
To seek some green Isle yonder ? 

Haste Home and rest, " 

And be forever blest ! l. g. 



NIGHT. 

Not a breeze, nor e'en the tinldc, 

Of a leaf, the quiet mars ; 
Not a motion, save the tmnlde. 

Of the bright and holy stare ! 
All is silent — yet not death-hke — 

But a quiet strangely deep. 
Like the hush, so calm and breath-hke. 

Of an infant's dreamless sleep. 

Heavenly Father ! in this night-hour, 

Sweet it is to think of Thee ; 
Calm and peaceful, when Thy power, 

And Thy attributes we see I 
While in slumber, soft and sweet, 

Is the drowsy world of dreams ; 
Tliou doth ceaseless vigils keep, 

Sleepless as the staiTy gleams ! 

Free from sin's sirocco gust, 

Is this sleeping world of ours ; 
Free from error and distrust. 

Free from agonizing hours ! — 
Could we thus e'er sinless hve, 

Sleeping sinful hours away, 
Waking only praise to give — 

Life were but one perfect day ! 

Passion's tide is stilled and quiet — 
Hushed the flow of turbid strife ; 

Evil thoughts no more run riot — 
Purity enfolds each life ! 



26 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

Dreams of bliss possess the restful, 
Garlandmjj: their sleep with flowers, 

Bringing back the bright and blissful 
Days of youth, and sinless hoiirs ! 

Holy night ! oh, gentle spirit ! 

Spells of potent charms are thine ! 
And from thee onr souls inherit. 

Pledges that we are divine ! — 
Glimpses of a Life eternal. 

Given in a life before — 
Star-rays from a Laud supernal, 

Guide us hence to Heaven's shore ! 

L. G. 



THE ISLE OF HOPE. 

In accents strong, Hope speaketh. 

But is not heard aloud ; 
Its sacred language breaketh 

Not on the careless crowd : 
It ever comes to render 

A high and holy part ; 
Its tones are sweet and tender ; 

Its words make glad the heart ! 

O Hope ! unto my bosom come ! 

Queen of my heart, my soul sustain ! 
Fair Hope, bright Hope, no longer roam ; 

Eeturn. and touch my life again ! 
O rare and radiant Hope ! once more 

Appear, and clear these clouds of gloom ! 
Oh ! reach uh from the Heavenly shore. 

The amaranth that deties the tomb ! 

Sadly we wait a whole life through, 
For a ship that never yet appears ; 

And ceaseless watch the waters blue — 
Eyes wet and dimmed with dewy tears ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 12'J 

Our ship that hails from foreign shore, 
Rich laden with rare freight doth he ; 

'Twill bring sweet Hope unto oar door, 
To cheer our heart as the days go by ! 

Now from the sky thy foi-m is bowed, 

And softly smiles athwart my way ; 
Reliant looli I through the cloud. 

And see soft skies at set of day : 
The whisperings of fears are dumb ; 

No more my soul is fraught with pain ; 
My nerves no more are cold and numb — 

I greet the happy hours again ! 

In Realms of Memory serene, 

A strong hand lifts' you into joy at length. 
And fo>.:l lips, many a kiss between, 

Breathe over you diviner strength ; 
Then, in the blossoming Isle of Hope. 

The angels visit you in dreams. 
Till in fragrant groves your eyes you ope, 

By brightened banks and lucid streams. 

Truth hath departed ! 
Love is faint hearted ! 
Know not the narrowness of life's endeavor. 
But let proud purpose pave thy path forever ! 
Faint not life's wild waves laboring o'er, 
But see the sun gild the shining shore ! 
Fah is yon promontoiy hight. 
Reflected with Hope's radiant light ' 
Drooi) not o'er effort spent in vain. 
But work as men who work for gain ! 
Turn thy face sunward ; 
Day cometli onward : 
No longer in deep gloom and darkness grope, 
But lift thine eyes, behold the Isle of Hope ! 

L. G. R. 



[28 M SCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



SONNET.— Pequot Bkaoh. 

Silence aud Night sit throned upon the hiUs, 

Beneath a canopy inm'ought AVith stars ; 
While o'er the drowsv earth cool dew distils. 

The moon peers out between her cloudy bars, 
Like Venus rising, ringed by silver shores ; 

While motionless and silent at my feet 

Lies Ocean, save when some glad wave to 
greet 
The beach, approaches lover-like, and pours 

A wealth of diamond spray upon the roclis. 

Upon the inland hills the quiet flocks _ 

Sleep in the moonlight. The lorn whippoorwiil 
With sweet complaint the stirless grove doth hll, 

Or pauses at the sound of plashing oars 
Which glide away, and all again is still. 

H. S C. 



WITHERED FLOWERS. 

Flowkrs. yesterday so bright! 

HoAV are' your blushes faded now ! 
Then, brilhant as the stars of night ; 

Now, like some mourner, drooping low : 
Thou dost a lesson teach to all— 

(Though daily read, yet how few know !) 
To-day we rise ; to-morrow fall ; 

Now royal clad ; and now in ashes go ! 

And I have watched, as one by one, 
Thy petals drooped, so pale and dead, 

Until thy rare aroma gone— 
Beautv and perfume both had fled ! 

O, how like the fragile hfe of man ! 
The weak, the hopeful, or the brave ; 



Strugghng through Life's little span. 
To All at last one common grave ! h 



G. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



JUNE. 

O rk:gal. radiant, royal June ! 
O gleaming, golden, gorgeous June ! 
O queenly month bo glorious ! 
O summer month victorious! 
Who bringest our weary spirits into tune \ 
O month of bloom, and love and roses. 
Within thy arms, how soft reposes 

Young Summer, in its maiden flush ! 
How blithe the dancing waters pass, 
In singing rills, through springing grass, 
In morn's fii-st early blush ! 
O linger, sunshine ! speed not soon, 
Thou silver-crested Juno moon ! 

Oh happy days and skies of blue, 

And perfumed mornings fresh with dew ! 

The air is freighted with fresh song, j 

Wafted the gentle gales along ; 

Mild stars look down from heaven above. 

Smiling on earth with tender love ; 

And in this gladsome summer weather, 

We dream fr^^sh dreams of fragrant heath' r ; 

While each fond h art is all aglow 

With prophecies of love, I trow : 

Though hard the kssons life doth teach. 

Heaven seems almost within our reach ! 

While the Future fair discloses, 

Buds as bright as baby roses ! 

O queen of summer months so fair ! 
O reign of blush and bloom so rare ! 
O month of seas of mottled flowers, 
Which now their richest hues display, 
With all their wealth of bright array ! 
O month of warm, refreshing showers! — 
Of new-mou'n hay, and apple bloom, 
That lill the air with sweet perfume ; — 
17 



l^ MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

O, m^rry month of strangest year ! 

How sw. et thy low, soft voica'to hear, 
In echoes soft, o'er hill and down. 
While Summer sheds o'er all a crown I 

Naturp, in lovely garb attired. 
Comes forth, a que*^ n to be admirt- d ; 
In mood of blushing bride, 
She walks in stately pride ; 
How soft her voice, how swe t her smile, 
How mild and witching every wile ! 

She sits thy feet beside ; 
Pansies she holds in dimpled hands ; 
And lili s fair, with lavish air. 
She plucks from out her shining hair, 
And scatters broadcast o'er the lands : 
Then on each tree she prints a kiss, 
Of maiden birth, and crowns the earth 

With floral wreaths, and pt rf ect bliss ! 
O truant lover, haste away, 
And gladly greet thy nuptial day, 
And wed the maid that jilted May ! 
Then to the wildwood we will hie. 
And gather flowt rs 'neath sunny sky. 
And plait a wreath for thy fair brow, 
An emblem fresh of thy love-vow : 
The skies of blue 
Bid thee be time. 
And woo her tenderly as now ! 
Thy love reposes on thy bosom. 
With breath as fresh as lily blossom ; 
She smiles, but only smiles for thee ; 
Her eyelids shade true constancy ! 

Now sing the robin, thrush, and linnet , 
Their song, with sweetest music in it ; 
On radiant wing, the butterfly 
Desports beneath the azure sky. 
Or sips the dew from flower to flower, 
Or airs its wings in shaded bower — 
Fair creature of a summer day. 
How swiftly speeds its life away ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. W^ /-J,/ 

And the uectar-drunkeu bee, 
Revels in ceaseless jubilee ; 
Through all the long day feasts and sups, 
From lily-urns and butter-cups ! 
And leaping locust, in shell of brown, 
With sharpened spinnet makes resound : 
All through the dell, oVr hill and mead, 
God's music wings its way with speed ! 

And thus, glad Month of floral prime, 

And balmy showers, 
Happy and all too-fleeting Time ! 

We gather flowers, 
And long for purer Life Divine, 

And Heavenly hours ! l. g. r. 



AGRICOLA. 

A MAN of humble tastes am I, 
Rude and untutored, knowing not 

The dim ways of philosophy, 
Or sunlit altitudes of thought. 

Few are my wants : my days al-e spent 
With God and Nature, far from strife ; 

My heart hath found the true content, 
That gUds the humbler walks of life. 

Fortune has cast me not with those 
Who hand-in-hand with Science walk ; 

But tell me how the violet blows, 
And I will listen to your talk ! 

Thus love I not the brawling town, 
Where change and tumult never cease, 

And Folly's wild confusions drown 
The songs of solitude and peace. 

Green dells and woodland waterfalls, 
More please me than gay Fashion's throng 

The music of their festive halls, 
Is nothing to my robin's song ; 



-T25 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 

Who trills his rhapsodies so loud, 

In glad bravuras, soaring free, 
That you might fancy he was proud, 

To pipe his solos, all for me ! 

My draft no marble fountains pour, 
Or nymph-supported urn distils ; 

The brook that sparkles by my door. 
Is the pure crj'stal of the hnis. 

No hot-house plants that shun the air, 
Are they by which my grounds are graced , 

Here Nature is my gardener, 
And sets the landscape to my taste. 

All day the golden-banded bee 

Hunts buckwheat bloom and clover top ; 
And the sleek, happy kine, for me 

All day the lush-green pastures crop. 

Thus days revolve and years go round — 

A life to sordid strife unknown. 
But hke the mill-wheel with a sound 

Of tranquil gladness, all its own- 
Then give me but my humble glen. 

Fresh air to breathe, and room for thought 
I am at peace with God and men ; 

I am contented with my lot ! h. s. c. 



ESPERANCE. 

SwKKT the hour of hope-born pleasure, 

In the halls of Beauty bright, 
When no thought has time to measure 

Half its picture of delight ; 
And the heart is all a blessing, 

And each fancy is a star, 
While we long for the caressing, 

Of the coming joys afar. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 12$ ( -, -> 

On the brow are wreaths of roses, 

Fresh and dewy from the dale ; 
Ah, what innocence reposes 

In her heart as in the vale ; 
Sleeps the morning in its brightness. 

Gay the hour when pure thovights rise. 
Full of joy and airy lightness — 

Full of angel melodies ! 

Happy hour !— and happy waking- 
Could we hence more heavenly live ! 

While above each broAV were breaking, 
Dewy stars that fragrance give ! 

Many mourn their meed of joy ; 
Life 's to them a, barren isle; 

All their pleasures grief's alloy ; 
Sweet is the hoiir when they smile ! 

What is Time to hearts of Sorrow ? 

It but hides itself in flowers ! 
We should charge no grief to-mon-ow. 

On the Altar of the Hours ! 
What is Life, when wreathed with Beauty ? 

It is but a wealth of joy ; 
And we hail each coming duty, 

Thanking Heaven for such employ ! 

Shadowy shape of strangest power, 

Steals^ away our soulful breath ; 
Hope bids be bold, and brave the hour — 

Face foreboding fear and death ! 
Soon speed sweet angels to our side. 

Beaming bright as morning sun ; 
Robed in rich raiment of a bride, 

Hope and Death are joined in one ! 

L. G. R. 



r^^eVj MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



E G E T A. 

In garish glare of glowing day, 

Seen through soft siinmier's scented sheen, 
Though sheltered, still the soul will stray, 

To islands sacred and serene ; 
And then it is I think of thee, 

Amid the silent-moving night. 
Steeping my soul in ecstasy, 

And gladding it with radiant light. 

Soft as the step of seraph bands, 

In Heaven's starrj' pathway set, 
Come visions from love-laden lands. 

Like halcyon hours when tirst we met ; 
And sweetest songs I seem to hear — 

Prophetic strains, soft symphony ; 
And well I know thou wingest near. 

To waft my weary soiil to thee ! 

I love thee not as others love ; 

My love for thee no time may change ; 
Distance and years serve but to prove, 

Affection wUl not be estranged ! 
For, deep and pure within my heart, 

The ceaseless f oiint is gushing still ; 
Nor shall thine image e'er depart. 

Nor cease my bosom's fount to fill. 

What though in Death is chained thy form, 

Pattern of Parian mould divine ; 
And Naiads with sweet smiles so warm, 

No more make meiTy at thy shrine ; 
Nor Dian maids, nor f Iiwti. nor fay. 

In charmed circles chase around. 
Nor in thy bower the minstrel's lay. 

With sweetest music makes resound. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. *«8^ / 5 *i 

Though years have died since first we met, 

In halcyon days, with hearts unworn, 
How sweetly to my spirit yet, 

The memories of the Past return ! 
In lonely hours, when thought is deep, 

A radiant spell illumes the gloom, 
And thy pure spirit comes to keep. 

Her vigils in my silent room. 

It is no sin to love thee thus — 

Thou guileless as an angel pure ! 
For holiest ties entangle us. 

Which through all ages shall endure ! 
Should earth no higher bliss bestow, 

Than this sweet rhapsody of love. 
It were seraphic joy to know, 

That mated hearts mav meet above ! 



THE SUNSET HOUR. 

The Hanging Hills are fading now ; 

The golden-tinted clouds are gone ; 
The rising river's ripples flow. 

More faintly in my fancy on ; 
The sweet repose, so still, "so calm. 

Which sunset's softening shades impart. 
Might soothe, methinks. like Gilead's balm. 

The wounded or the weary heart ! 

The flower's scent, the forest's force, 

Sweet silence of soft stars still share, 
Since Sorrow's shadow its sad source, 

Secretes with solemn, sober air ! 
Now its fierce fires spread o'er faint soul ; 

No drop of dew dispels the heat S 
Sad earth seems shriveled like a scroll ; 

Nor lonelv lakes lave lowlv feet. 



12Q. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Where waves are wild, where shores are steep. 

And princely pines peer down in pride ; 
Where watera cheerless, dark and deep, 

In gloomy groans grate on life's tide ; — 
Where reeds and rushes, red and rank. 

Skirt shining strand of shell-strewn shore, 
Or foamy seas sweep o'er steep bank, 

I list low sullen, siirging roar. 

I know not why, but at this hour. 

When sinks the sheeny sun to rest, 
I turn vnth strange impelling power, 

A searching glance within my breast ; 
And in the day's dim, dying light. 

The veil falls from my heart anew. 
And all grows dim to human sight. 

And but One eye its faults can view ! 

The sunset hour is sweeter far, 

Than grandest glare of glowing noon ; 
I love to watch the Ih'st faint star. 

And gaze upon the sailing moon ; 
Then thought flies high, and memory 

Sleeps in the quiet of the scene, 
Till in the future far I see, 

A desert isle forever green. 

'T is fancy all ! earth has no rest ! 

Life's bustling throng, with busy air, 
Press on ; while hidden in each breast. 

Are eager hope and earnest care- 
Till, tossed by turbulent desires. 

And dashed by disappointments past. 
Spent by strong' passion's seething fires, 

Life's sunset hour is seen at last ! 

L. G. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I37 



AUTUMN EVENING, 

The Sim sinks slowly in the west : 

The wind sighs through the vale ; 
Soft twilight steals o'er ocean's breast. 

And leaves float on the gale : 
The Year seems loveher in decay ; 

The woods of various hue 
Reflect the tints of dying day, 

Seen through Heaven's field of blue. 

The lone crags gleam with tender light, 

By sunset glories kist, 
Ere yet the cool, voluptuous Night, 

Veils them in tawny mist : 
The cony hides gray rocks beneath ; 

The squirrel seeks his rest — 
Nor list they hounds on distant heath. 

But seek a perfect rest ! 

I love the hue that autumn gives 

Her dying plants and leaves,; 
And cherish long the plaintive song 

The forest-spirit breathes : 
They tell of hopes that childhood knew- 

Of dreams that long since fled ; 
They tell of love that fadeless grew. 

Around the saintly dead. 

They breathe a song of other days — 

A low and plaintive air- 
Till thronging come familiar lays, 

And echo softly where 
Within the chambers of the heai-t 

They once so fondly stole : 
Like guests ne'er read}- to depart. 

They linger in the soul. 
18 



138 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

How lovely is the tenderness, 

That autumn throws around 
The saddened heart, in gentleness. 

As leaves fall to the ground ! 
Throbs there a heart that would not melt, 

As olden memories creep, 
All laden with deliciousness, 

O'er which we love to weep I 

As o'er the weird iEolian lyre, 

The passing zephjTs brush, 
And from its fine and trembhug wire. 

Their latest cadence gush : 
80 o'er my spirit's shimberiug chords, 

If Memory chance to roll. 
There comes in di-eamy, low love-words. 

Soft echo to my soull 

And now she brings me dreams of one 

My early boyhood knew — 
One o'er whose newly-moulded grave. 

But last year violets grew ! 
Oh, how we love to twin" our hojjes. 

And dwell on perf'?ct bliss- 
Then weep to think that from Time's shori 

Has fled all happiness ! 

Now on my heart's unbroken shrine, 

Her changeless love is thrown. 
While the bright frost-work gathers there. 

Like moss around the stone : 
I would not banish Memory o\it — 

My heart, were parched too, 
As flowers upon some desert spot. 

Would die without the dew. Lu u. k. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I39 



BE TRUE TO THY TKUST. 

Bic tiiie to thy trust, though the world should 
discard thee, 
And the vile and the erring- thy efforts des- 
pise ; 
Though others neglect, thy true heart will 
reward thee, 
For Vh-tue is riches, its possession a prize ! 
Wealth passes away as the mist of the mor- 
ning, 
And ere we have clasped it 'tis vanished 
anon ; 
And beauty will fade from the face 't is adorn- 
ing— 
But the virtuous are blest when the phan- 
toms are gone. 



Be true to thy trust, though thy fortune be 
lowly — 
Though thy raiment be coarse, and though 
small thy estate ; 
Bid the thotightsof thy bosom be peaceful 
and holy — 
Bid thy heart be untainted with malice or 
hate : 
Thou art storing a treasure more wealthy than 
Ophir, 
Beyond the corrosion of moth or of rust ; 
And richer rewards than the miser's vain coffer 
Awaits thee, if thou art but true to thy trust. 

Be true to thy trust, as the sweet song of 
childhood 
Dies away from thy ear like the sound of a 
horn, 



140 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

When silent and hushed is the voice of the 
wildwood, 
And its flowers no longer thy pathway adorn : 
As the day's beauty blends with the glories of 
even, 
So Viiiue's reflection inhaloes the just, 
And glories more bright than the western 
horizon, 
Shall gild thy life's twiUght, if thou art true 
to thy trust. 

Be true to thy trust, though no mortal espy 
thee— 
Though Secrecy promise to hide thy deceit ; 
Know the vigilant eye of Conscience defies 
thee 
Long to play undetected the part of a cheat ! 
If placed where the perils of life close sur- 
round thee — 
If assailed by temptation and passion's wild 
lust — 
Stem trials and dangers will only have crown- 
ed thee — 
There cometh deep peace, if thou art true 
to thy trust. 

When thou shalt lie down in Death's dreamless 

slumber — 
Thy soul passed to God, thy frame laid in 

dust — 
Thy kindred shall say, as thy virtues they 

number : 
•' Here lieth a man who was true to his trust." 

L. G. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I4I 



SUMMER RAIN. 

When heather and hill are glad with bloom, 

And the grass is tall and green, 
And the moth and the glancing dragon fly 

About the brooks are seen ; 
Though brute and bird are glad again, 

In the light of the Summer lea, 
There is joy for the many moods of men, 

And the rainy days ar/^ the days for me ! 

Somf^ thing of sadness, I know not what, 

Yet pleasui'e more than pain, 
Like minor music is borne to m^. 

In the swi ep of the Summer rain. 
80 tender and swet t the peace it brings, 

I love it howe'er it be, 
And have made a song my fancy sings, — 

The rainy days are the days for me ! 

When bees cr-ep into th^ hollyhocks. 

And the violet closes her hood, 
And the mountain showers come dancing down 

And roaring over the wood ; 
Under the roof I laugh amain, 

As I hark to the hornpipe free, 
Of the myriad-footed, musical rain — 

Rain of Summ- r, so dear to me ! 

For the snow will come wh^n the earth is dead. 

And the butterfly-days are done ; 
When the lark no more shall carol in air, 

Nor the mill-wheel flash in the sun ; 
When the East is cold, and the wind complains 

In the reeds by the shivering sea, 
And I shall sigh for the warm June rains — 

For the Summer rain so dear to me ! 

H. S. C. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



THE FUGITIVR 11853.1 

Winter, with its ehroxid of white, 
O'erspreads the stiff, cold ground, 

And the gloomy pall of Night, 
Lies upon the world around. 

With a wild, complaining moan. 

Sweeps the gale o'er hill and moor, 
While a stranger, sad and lone. 

Craves the shelter of my door. 

'I am weaiy — faint," he says ; 
"And my blood is chilled quite ! 
Give me'but some lowly place — 
Food— and shelter for the night." 

Can I coldly turn away. 

From a traveler tired and worn ? — 
Can I, frowning, answer ' • Nay I " — 

Bid the wanderer wander on ? 

Stay ! V/hat means that glaring eye ! 

Why with terror heaves his breast ? 
Tell— if thou canst tell me why— 

Whence this look of wild unrest ? 

Has indeed some monster come. 

From his vile, his dark abode ? 
Flies he thus the assassin's doom .' — 

Beek his hands with human blood ? 

Hark !— the hounds are on his track ! 
" Seize the -svTetch, the scoundrel — knave ! 
Bind him, beat him— drag him back — 
Kill him ! — for he is — a Slave ! " 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I43 

Freemen ! — once your fathers fought ! 

Freely did then- life-blood gush ! 
See the priceless boon they bought! — 

See this picture, then — and blush, 

L. G. R. 



WE SHALL MEET AGAIN. 

Fdll many a scene, full many a flower, 

May yield the bosom sweet delight. 
Then' perish with the passing hour, 

And leave us groping in the Night! — 
But oh ! how precious is the joy. 

When partmg with the friends we love, 
Whose tenderness found sweet employ, 

To point them to the Hope above : 
And while the pearly tear-drops well 

From eyes, the heart is free from pain : 
We slowly speak a sad farewell. 

And trust to meet in Heaven again ! 



We know there is above the skies. 

A kingdom where bright seraphs reign ; — 
Where blessed ones who go from earth. 

In endless love shall meet again ! 
And when we gain that blissful Land. 

And sing His holy praises o'er. 
Amid a blest and sinless band. 

We know that we shall part no more ! 
So look we up where sweet Trath dwells — 

So look we down on false earth vain ; 
And e'er, when taking last farewells. 

We say, "In Heaven we meet again ! " 

L. G. R. 



144 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



THE YEAR THAT S GONK 

Down the dark vale of the Past, 
Backward Memory's glance is cast, 
O'er the days that fled so fast. 

In the Year that 's gone ; — 
Fled for aye, each truant day, 

In the Year that 's gone. 

Fairy islands, bright and green, 
On life's desert waste ai'e seen ; 
But dark waters intervene, 

'Twixt the Now and Then, 
Shining brightly in the light. 

Of the Year that's gone. 

Joyous Spring, with budding flowers, 
Dancing through the forest bowers. 
Heedless of Time's fleeting hours, 

In the Year that 's gone ; — 
Gipsying wild, that happy child, 

In the Year that 's gone. 

Many were the castles bright. 
Peopled with fair forms of light. 
Ellin kings and fairies sprite. 

In the Year that 's gone ;— 
So sweet visions that they fled, 

In the Year that 's gone. 

Morning fragrance early shed ; 
Childhood's dear hopes here he dead ; 
Youth's wild dreams will soon have fled. 

With the Year that 's gone : 
But ever bright in Memory. 

These davs shall have a throne I 



SHSCELL Algous FOKMS. «45 

SUMMER. 

O BKFoaTEST season of tke year ! 
Thou white-robed geddees all diviticl 
W« bow in homage at thy shrine, 

And roses strew -o'ex' Spiing'a cold •biea'1 

So like thy sister Spring thou 'rt «e.e?*. 
In vernal da-apery at green 
With tioweiy skirt, as only Natfute tv^aS* 
Whea »he in happiest mood appears, 
In the soft and sunny hours— 
Broidered and decked witii greenest leaves. 

And g&rlanded with rai'sst flowers ^ 
While -en thy head a floral crown we place, 
And in thy hand a liiv for thy mace ! 

O Summer Queen ! with air of gi*ace. 
Thou reignest sweetly in thy youthful pride ; 

O peerless queen with bonnie face ! 
Scatter sweet blossoms-— strew them far and 
wide! 

Fair fields of waving grain. 

With myriad webs of shinitig peaVls, 
Lie tangled thick upon the waving plain : 
And tufted blossoms lift their yellow heado, 
To catch the dew-drops shaken from the blades! 
In rosy dances the morn advances, 
Her dew-wet flag o'er all unfurls ! 
Soft-flooding steals its mellow light along. 
Melting the morning mists, and waking song, 
Till soon the golden-skirted clouds advance. 
Rejoicing in reflected radiance 
Of thine, O bright, luxurious Smntner ! 

Groiand-ivy and clover are now creeping over 

The heather and lawn ; 
Whites lilies are blowing, and violets showing 
Their gold hearts glo^^ing and glad to U\^ 

dawn ! 

19 



146 MISCELLANEOUS POEMSo 

While here, amid the sheltering wood. 
The robin and the blue-bird brood : 
The song-birds at night attest their delight. 

That the rest-hour is nigh ; 
The sad whi^j-poor-will and the bell-bu'd, still 

Wake the woods with their lone reply ; 
Then, in rhapsody choral they foretell the au- 
roral 
Blush of day-dawning sky ! 

Now rural maids their tresses twine 
With fragrant buds of columbine; 

And gleefully o'er hill and vale, 

Light floats the sweet and wandering gale ! 

Or wliile I walk through meadows wide, 

Or watch the rippling river's tide, 
Fresh odors, delicate and rare, 
Perfume the warm and ambient air— 

For thee, O rosy, blooming Summer — 
For thee— for thee ! 

The glad earth thiobs beneath thy feet, 
For thee, O warm and dreamy Summer ! 
While gleeful Nature smiles to greet 

Thy happy face : 
The heavens rejoice in thy glad voice, 
And winning grace, 
O soft, sweet sheeny Summer ! 
Late apple-blooms with ardor blush, 
And cherries smile with tinted flush ; 
The peach-tree buds are crimson-red, 
^Vhile tuneful warblers pipe o'erhead, 

For thee, O fragrant, fruitful Summer ! 
The busy little honey-bee, 
Makes merry drone in locust-tree — 
Now by its coming, and its going, 
And by its humming, it is showing 
The love it bears to thee — 
To thee, O honey-laden Summer!— 
The love it bears to thee ! 



MISCELLANEOl^S POEMS. 1 47 



RETROSPECTION. 

While the radiant morn is waking, 

The red sun drinks the rose's dew ; 
And the first rays of day are breaking 

Through clouds of silver and of bine ; 
I linger on the embroidered sod, 

To breathe the violet's rare perfiime, 
Or bow unto the lilac's nod. 

Or wave of chestnut's tinted plume. 

Backward across life's mighty main. 

Blow fairest roses, white or red ; 
Lost land of vernal bloom ! again 

I seem thy fragrant meads to tread ! 
Or, in thy fertile valleys dream. 

And sing the old familiar songs, 
Or walk beside some rippling stream, 

As sweet Love lingers, looks and longs ? 

Thus oft with weary eye I sweep 

O'er scenes of beauty in the Past, 
While Memory, from her dreamy sleep, 

Awaking, plumes her wings at last ! 
And backward, through the misty clouds. 

The sweet Enchantress wings her flight, 
Till every vision Sorrow shrouds, 

Is robed in rainbow tints of light ! 

Some slight memento of the days 

When Pleasure wandered wild and free, 
Recalls to my enraptured gaze. 

Life's morning-star of Destiny ! — 
And hopes long withered, bloom again, 

Beside the thorny path I tread ; 
And buried joys resume their reign 

Within my heart, in Sorrow's stead ! 



148 MISCELLANEOUS TOEMS*. 

And 80, perchance, these modest lincs,- 

Will, in the flight of years, recall 
Some clinging memory that twines 

Its tendrils in obMvion's wall — 
And thoughts too sweet and pure to last^ 

In sweet rememberance siill will rise, 
And blissful visions of the Past, 

Return to bless my longing eyes ! 

L. G. 



THE DYING GIRL. 

I AM dying, mother, dying ! 

For my breath comes faint and slow, 
And my eyes are slowly closing, 

Over things of earth below : 
Ere the sun again is shining, 

Death will end all pain and care — 
Ease the throbbings of my bosom, 

Guide m« to a home so fair ! 

When the splendid sunlight lingers. 

Flushing all the Western sky, 
I wiU watch and hover o'er you. 

From my starry home on high ; 
And when darkness slowly gathers. 

With its iinseen, solemn tread, 
I will keep sweet, seraph vigils. 

Softly round thy sleeping bed. 

Now the darkness closes round me ; 

Angel fingers still my heart ; 
And a white-robed form before me^ 

Bids me now with him depart ! 
Farewell, mother ! let not sadness 

Rest upon thy spirit here ; 
We shall meet, in joy and gladness, 

In a t«-ighter, happier sphere ! l. 0. b. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 1 49 



W H Y ? 

Wht is it that the friends we love. 

On fleeting pinions fly ; 
And hopes \.e cherish in our youth. 

Wither so soon and die ? 
Why is it that each joy of Ufe 

Is but a passing breath — 
An evanescent foam that breaks 

Upon the sea of death ? 

Why is it that the lovely rose^ 

That blooms in fragrance sweet, 
Is scattered by the careless wind, 

And crushed beneath our feet ! — 
Its perfume, which we erst inhaled, 

From midst the crimson leaves, 
Has disappeared ; and on its stalk. 

His web the spider weaves ? 

Why melts the Winter's driven snow, 

Before sweet Spring's soft sun ? 
Why are the dew-drops drawn away, 

When morn has just begun ? 
Why burst the bubbles which so bright, 

Sail through the vapory air ? — 
Why db the sweetest flowers die. 

Though fed mth te<nderest care ? 

Why is it thus ? — 0, blooming rose. 

And all life's magic spell ! — 
And dew-drop bright, and bubble frail, 

The reason, canst thou tell ? 
Know then, that all that earth bedecks, 

Or on its breast doth he, 
Was born for Time— and at His beck, 

Must fade away and die ! l. g, r. 



I50 MrSCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



HASTE THEE TO DO GOOD. 

H\HTE thee to do good ! 
To-mon*ow may be too late ; 
Canst thou bind the wheels of Fate ;' 
Canst thou hold the wings of Time ? 
Canst thou chain thy manhood's prime ? 
Haste thee to do good. 

Haste thee to do good ! 
Sow the true seed whilst thou may : 
Death will Boon make thee his prey I 
Can pride's pomp, and sculptured stone. 
For the soul's neglect atone ? — 
Haste thee to do good- 
Haste thee to do good ! 
God is Truth ! — be thou e'er tnie ! 
So shalt goodness dwell in you : 
To His laws obedient be, 
Through time and through eternity ! 
Haste thee to do goo 1. 

Haste thee to do good ! 
The world needs honest men and great, 
In church, in council, and in State : 
The age needs brave men, good and just. 
In whom to place its sacred trust ! 
Haste thee to do good. 

Haste thee to do good ! 
Kindle aloft Hope's beacon fire, 
That he who sees may still aspire : 
Espouse the Right — denounce the Wrong 
So shalt thy worth be writ in song ! 
Haste thee to do good. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 15I 

Haste thee to do good I — 
I.e/it thy faint heart thee betray — 
Leit the Ught of Love decay — 
Lest thou lose the high renowu, 
Saintly pahn and starry crown — 

Haste thee to do good. ^ l. q. k. 



TO A SNOWDROP. 

Welcome, swBet flower I bright herald of the 
Spring ! 
With white and blooming brow ; 
And emblem too of Winter's gone ciireer ! 

Why aii; thoii flowering now ? 
Thy health no sweet flower pledges, 
No fair rose smiles in the early hedges ; 
And as the pearly dew-drops pass, 
No violet nods from springing grass : 
Lovely thon art and lonely ; 
Thou watchest, and thou only, 
Above the cold earth's snowy tomb ! 
And so we bless thee for thy floral bloom ! 

What thpugh ao subtle fragrance thou dost 
bring. 
Yet unto me thy waxen fruit is dear 
As reddest rose-buds bathed in balmy dew : 
Yea, dearer far : — for thv pale leaves fore- 
tell 
That Suinmer comes, in guise of glorious hue, 
To deck the mountain, forest, mead and 
dell! 
O welcome, sweet new comer ! 
Bright hei-ald of the glad and lovely Summer ! 

Long have we yearned and waited for thy 

coming ; 
Long has the bee been sorrowfully humming ; 



152 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Vainly the blue-bird mated, 
And called to thee belated ! — 

Blue-bird and bee and I, 

Have watched with weary eye. 

So anxious quite were we. 

Tln'^weet, pale face to see ! 

Dear pledge of beauty ! how I love thy form ! 

A ray thbu art 'twixt cloud and sunshine 
fair 1 
Formed in the flood of glory and of storm, 

And called to hfe by Nature's holy care ! 
Oh, gently breathe soft wiuds upon thy leaf 1 
Loved be thy flower, for oh, its ho\ir rs' brief ! 

L. G. R. 



THE MAJESTY OF TRUTH. 

As STANDS the proud oak when the tempest is 
raging, 
While otheis less firm are upturned by the 
blast, 
fio Truth, while with Error a" warfare is wa- 

Is firm and ivpyielding, triumphant at last. 

Truth stands as UHmoved as the bold promon- 
tory. 
Towering aloft by wild waves of the sea ; 
Her heart-healing song and her soul-stirring 
stoiy, 
Comes to cheer every child of this hcuntie of 
the free ! 

Truth, mightv and noble, came down fi-ora the 
Malier — 
The Sovereign Ruler of earth nnd of sliy ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I53 

Then cliug to her fondly, and never forsake 
her, 
Till death shall have veiled thy now beam- 
ing eye. 

Truth ever is mighty ! Superstition and EiTor, 
Al[ powerless and hollow, must fall by thy 
side! 
Then, friends of the Right, do not falter in 
terror, 
liut boldly^ press onward, with Truth for 
your guide. 

L. G. R. 



LOVE. 



Tm RR is a glory far above 
All else that lower worlds possess : 
Shrined in the heart's profound reocHH, 

Is this bright gloiy — Love. 

There is a word man's heai-t to move : 
When all things else in trial fail. 
This magic word will e'er prevail — 

The talismanic Love. 

And coming gently as a dove. 
It doth the ohve-branch ent-wdne — 
It doth man's fiercest passions bind — 

The meek and gentle Love. 

Gi'eat Author, God ! receive our praise. 
For this, Thy choicest blessing given ; — 
It makes low earth so like high Heaven, 

And wakes our thankfiil lays I 

Chkist, dear Lord I thanks be to Thee I 
Thy love for sinful souls so great. 
Thou earnest to earth from high estate. 

To set man's spirit free ! r.. a. k. 

. 20 



154 MISCELLANEOUS POEM5^ 



IN HEAVEN THERE IS REST. 

When Love's most cherished Ho-vven 
Fades from the heart's dear bower, 

Tlien are we deep distrest ;— 
Yet o'er each cheerless hour, 
Hope casts a soothiiij; power — 

In Heaven there is rest. 



When Night its sable wings. 
O'er life a shadow flings, 

Hope's pale and trembling crest 
Doth ever find relief, 
In this benign beUef— 

In Heaven there is rest. 



When hearts are sad and lone — 
When pleasures all have 11 own — 

Grief our unwelcome guest ; — 
When cheerlessness and gloom, 
Have robbed earth of its bloom. 

In Heaven there is rest. 



When Hope — liright star of life — 
Resigns our souls to strife, 

O. with what zest 
We cloy of earthly tilings — 
The fleet joys that life brings. 

And look to Heaven for rest ! 

L. G. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 155 



NIGHT ON MOUNT LA^^IENTATIOK 

O Night ! art sad ats tlion art fair? 
Dost moaniu'j; make, and Availiii;^' cry? 
Dost weep Mild t°ars beneath soft sky ? — 
Lift the dark curtain, and to us reveal, 
The rude and rough of vanished days, 
Now mellowed in the sunset haze ; — 
O, with kind art. 
Show ufi apart. 
The hidded mysteries thy mai itle doth conceal i 
Show us Heaven's beauties rare ! 

Under the cooling', cloudy shadows. 

On bights beyond the waving meadow-s. 

In balmy fragrance of June Aveather, 

My heart and I went out together, 

Where towering crags majestic rise, 

Forever pointing to the skies ; — 

"Where mountain peaks uplift their head. 

And careless footsteps scarcely tread. 

And in eve's quiet, purple light, 

AVe drank in raptures of delight, 

As Titans grandly throned on high. 

Itcfresh parched lips from dewy sky ; — 

Or sat and watched the Huntress Qaecn, 

Moving along her way serene, 

J.-ngirt with realms of shining stars. 

That peer so sweet through Heaven's bars ; — 

Ivobed in rare raiment, ermine white. 

8he treads the corridors of Night ! — 

And well I know I walked with (Ion. 

As o'er the craggy peaks I trod, — 

For, upward still, beyond all strife. 

My soul soared to the Eealms of Life I 

Stern Silence sits in holy places. 
In Heaven's blue zone etcrnallv. 



156 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And reignH in the unmeasured spaces 
Where stars move on, in harmony ; 
While the vast, boundless universe, 
Weeping o'er Time's discordant curse, 

, Seeks to efface sin's deep-graved traces. 

Sad Earth ! thy music breaks in moans, 
Thy sighs low utterance make in groans ; 
* While silently, as in reply. 

All through'tlip blue and cloudless sky, 
G id's blessings fall in light and dew, 
And silently, His judgments too ! 

Beyond Life's fathomless abyss. 
In the Hereafter, grand and bright. 
His Peace shall crown stern Truth and Right, 
And make that life more pure than this ! 
Its tidelpss sea. Eternity, 
Shall lave the green isles of our life. 
And calm its wild, tumultuous strife. 
Its destiny, while Time shall be ! 

Deep calm o'erspreads all things below : 
I feel man's helplessness to know ! 
The Hanging Peaks loom up afar : 
Restful alike each flower and star ! 
The sun through mazy hazes wheels, — 
Its shadow o'er the mountain steals ; 
Slowly subside its splendid fires. 
Now silvering dome and steeple spires ; — 
Its ruddy glow fades from the West, 
And meadow larks fly to their nest ! — 
Then why comes not to man sweet peace — 
A perfect calm of heavenly rest .' — 
Why comes there not that sweet behest. 
That says earth's restlessnpss shall cease ? 

L. G. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I57 



ISABEL. 



Whkn the Winter, wild and cold, 
Unto Spring had given birth, 

And the tiny flowers ui^sprang 
From the bosom of the earth, — 

Then, Avithin a woodland dell, 

Met I first 8we t Isabki,. 



Graceful as Thama queen, 
Glides she through the open door : 

Light as pattering April shower. 
Fall her footsteps on the floor ; 

While the voice I love so well, 

Munnurs, "Tisyourls^B l." 

Flies too fast fleet-footed TiniP, 

While we love and laugh and sing ;— 

Angels bear us fron-i H' aven's clinif, 
Freshened joys on swiftest wing : 

And the sky is bright above. 

While we live in light of love ! 

Darker than Night's sable shade- 
Sunnier than Summer skies — 

Brighter than all gems b low. 
Are my precious darling's eyes ! 

Silken lashes, guard them well ! — 

Gentle, winsome Ij-abel ! 

Purer her love, placid and still, 
Than yonder river's gentle flow, 

While by tall towf r or rising hill. 
Its waves in faintest ripples go : 

Nor thought that is not right and true, 

Keflecls from e>CM of de uct hue. 



158 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

In the npl •udor of the day. 

(Jileiug laud and purphny; «< a : 
Thou-^li the moiithe swift ^Ude awav, 
Still our love shall chan^clesH b«!— 
• Yes. though Time Bhall lleetly lly, 
Our love shall link Eternity ! 

Fairer than the blunhint,' roH •, 
Ih the hue upon her cheek : 

In the dimples round her mouth. 
Painty fays i)lay hide-and seek: — 

Half the rliarniH no ton^'jue can tell. 

Of my darliu'^ Isabil ! 

Snnnner moons may wax and wane — 
Autnmn flowers bloom on the lea ; 

On the liill-top.s <;oldpn i.';rain, 
To and fro wave mciTJly :— 

Dnt my joy no Avords can tell. 

In tlie love of IsaoklI i,. o. u. 



NOT IN A MAK15LE COUllT. 

Not in a marble court. 

Where titled scrvants»Hro, 
Or Fasl lion's votaries sport. 

Seek I a mansion fair : — 
Nor where with beauty crowned, 

And art and taste adorned, 
Only proud heart is found, 

And all bit riches scorned' 

Amid the pomp and pride, 
And power wealth doth gi^c. 

'My heart could never hide. 
Its scorn for those who live 

As thou^di to them alone. 
The earth and all were jjiven— 



# 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I59 

Who deem the heart a throne 
Too mean to strive for even ! 

Amid earth's roses fair- 
Beneath the blue sky clear. 

Where birdn Hit through the air, 
And fond hearts feel no fear ; — 

There, in a humble cot, 
Far from all sin and strife, 

Where envy enters not, 
I'd dream away my life ! 

With Nature for my book, 

And uncaged birds my choir. 
In some secluded nook, 

I'd strike the soiilful lyre ! 
If but one weary heart, 

I touched with tender strain, 
Th* n had my humble art. 

Not lived and strived in vain ! 

L. G. R. 



LIFE'S MYSTEIIY. 

Only a brief moment on earth — 

Only a little, light breath !— 
Scarce break we the seal of Birth. 
When comes Death I 

Look we forward to sweet bliss 'i 

Hope we to pluck the tiowew of May ? 
Alas ! the Enchantress' Idss 
Doth delay ! 

But swept Faith says, " Good — not ill- 
Cometh soon ; — only believe ! " 
The promise— though"^ hope we still, 
Doth deceive ! 



l6o MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Loving aud loved, we are blest ! 
We toil — and when toil is o'er, 
Our poor hearts, Ktarved and iinrest, 
llent implore ! 

Otir Life is bat a moment, a breath I 

We 're stranded on each wave's flow I — 
Its mystery is — liirtb and Death I — 

Thus we i'ol I-. (>. K. 



TJUTwE COMETH llEST. 

To L on. and never oease, 
O troubled brain, weary with pain — 
With thoughts opprest,' wliile seeking rest, 

Nor ask I'rom toil release : — 
After the pain, as after rain, 

There come th rest. 

Keep watfli. O heavy eyes ! 
Nor rest in sleep, but vigils keep, 
Through the lone night, till day dawns bright, 

Nor pine for siiimy skies ! — 
Thy lone watch past, sweetly at last, 

Tliere comoth sleep. 

Throb on, oh, aching heart, 
Nor Heek release, till Time shall cease ! — 
O weary heart I — so faint thou art ! 

6 heart!— play well thy part !— 
Hope sure shall bring from pain surcease, 

And sweetest Peace ! i.. o. r. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. l6l 



ON A JEWELED THEONE RECLINING. 

L"OK I up with spirit yearning. 
Where celestial ntars are burning, 

Ah they in their orbits roll ; 
Look I where the sky is brightest — 
Where the heavenly-blue is lightest — 

Where the star points to its polo. 

Far above the rays of gladness — 
Above sombre clouds of sadnests — 

Beyond mystic cloud-land far ; — 
There, where pain and sin and sorrow, 
Never comes with the to-morrow — 

I would seek a mansion fair. 

Where seraphic brightness dwelleth — 
Where the angel-chorus swelleth, 

And sad soul-songs never come ; 
Where soft hands tired brows are laving — 
Where tall palms their heads are waving — 

Iti that land I 'd seek my home. 

I would find me out a palace. 

Where Christ's love hath set a chalice, 

Chased and starred with rubies rare ; — 
'Mid seraphic radiance shining. 
On a jeweled throne reclining. 

Sits the Prince of Glory fair I 

Sing to Him, in stateliest measure — 
Sing, with hearts outgushing i^leasure. 

Praise of our Redeemer-King ! 
Ron of God ! Most High ! we croAvn Thee ! 
Son of Man ! so meek ! wo own thee I 
Endless prai^-es we would ^ing. 

L. G. R. 
21 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



GOD'S NEEDY POOR. 

(tod's needy poor these sad days sit, by their 
forloi*u lireside. 

And loud bemoan the misery, which doth 
their home betide ; 

With humble, drooping head, and with down- 
cast, tearful eyes, 

They recall the happy houra, passed under 
brighter skies. 

Our hearts are filled with pity, as we their 

sorrow view, 
liut in vain is our condolement, if we feel not 

sorrow too ; — 
Of their heartsi' deep grief and bitterness, how 

little do we know. 
Else would our tears with their's, unite in one 

l)erpetual flow. 

"Oh, shield our poor and needy kin," we say,. 

on bended knees ; 
How tight our purse, how hard our heart, His 

piercing eye quick sees ; — 
Tlie holy God u,: pleasure takes, in heartless 

worship vain ; 
Our soulless prayers, and empty songs, with 

Him no favor gain. 

We have no right to ask the sweet, and pre- 
cious Gilead balms. 

If we disdain the poor to feed, withholding 
needed alms— 

If we have failed to press the hand, whose 
throbbings grief has stirred — 

If we have never meted out, the sympathizing 
word L. G. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 163 



A FPA^.MENT. 

O, FOK the Mistral's t-tronsf wing, lienee to fiy, 

To the realms where sweet bards wake soul- 
melody ; 

V here, iu mystical harmony, fair buds and 
bright flowers, 

Blend their voices with twin-stars, and sing of 
the hours: — 

Where the zephyr and sunbeam, in ex-tatic 
delight, 

Playful dalliance give fairies, then hide out of 
sight ; 

While the lute's melting music in soft tone^ 
float by, 

And the guitar's grand chords wake soul- 
melody ! 

o. for the wint's of the wild Lutin-steed, 

To bear me to charmed flower-ciicles with 

speed ! 
Wher«j the ligiitning's dreiid wand enchant- 

eth the ground. 
And luminous footprints Faery-sprites scat- 
ter round! 
W^here sweet Hope hath planted, 'mid magical 

gloom, 
The twin-bulbs of Fancy and Feeling, whose 

bloom 
With the fragrance of Sympathy exqnia tdy 

blend. 
And its sweet perfui^o wafts to the tartli's 

remote end ! 

L. G. R. 



164 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



SOLILOQUY. 

Dear Family Bible ! book of inspiration, 
At morn and at evening, it yields fresh 
delight ; 
With the prayer of my father, a sweet invo- 
cation. 
For mercy by day, and protection by n'ght : 
While hymns of thauks<,'iviDg, la harmony 
swelling, 
All warm from the heart of a family band, 
liaise my soul from the earth, to that raptur- 
ous dwelling, 
Described in the Bible that lays on the stand. 



' '.lest scenes of tranquility ! long since have 
we parted ! 
Fond hopes are now gone— sweet friends 
are no more ! 
In sorrow and sadness I roam, broken-hearted, 
And wander unknown on a desolate shore ! 



Yet why should I doubt a kind Savior's pro- 
tection — 
Why should I forget the dear gifts of His 
hand? 
Oh, let me with patience receive His correc- 
tion, 
And trust in the Bible that lays on the 
stand. 

L. G. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 165 



LOVE WEARS A llOYAL, DIVINE CROWN. 

Serene the hour : a^new, dehghtful sense 
Of perfect, purest jo.y, my soul embi'acea , 

And thoughts of evil, guile, and wrong desire, 
Were from ray heart effaced :— 

Within, without, above, beneath, around, 

Seraphic rapture, unalloyed, was foimd. 

The birds, whose songs unheeded were of old, 
Enrapt my soul with thrilling melody ; 

While nature, erst bethought a simple thing, 
Breathed a sweet symphony : 

A deep-pervading, hopeful charity. 

Invested coarser things with poesy. 

I had no eye for others' helpless faults. 

Nor ear for needless, self-inflicted wo : — 
Sweet buds of Hope, bright blossoms of fair 
Faith, 
I watched in beauty blow ; 
While homely phrase, and careless, simple 

word. 
Bare feast of pleasure did my heart afford. 

O Love ! thou 'rt man's diviuest attribute ! — 
His evidence of worthiness of Heaven ! 

Through thee, by thee, this ever fresh delight, 
This sweet, consoling thought is given : — 

O Love ! so tearful-tender, and so kind— 

In heart an angel, and a saint in mind ! 



Perfection she ! Dear Love personitied ! 
Sweet fountain-head of all that augur' d 
peace ! 



t66 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 

Aye I vlecpcr. timier was I in licr toil8 I — 

Aiil ^et I feared release ! 
Yes. lettered fast !— yet 't was a joy to bo 
Eucliaiued in such rare soul-captivity ! 

Love in the heart ? There 's love in everv- 
thin-^ ! 

A pure joy is Love— aud most infectious ! 
All nature owns its subtle influence ! 

Men may call Love contumacious- 
May call it womanish- and at it frown ; — 
Still I^ove o'er wears a royal, divine crown ! 

L. U. M. 



E V L II O N AV A R D. 



PovBTiNo always makeB men weaker ; 

Fear makes cowards of us all ; 
But the true and earnest seeker, 

Knows no failure or no fall. 



liife was never meant for dreamini^ — 
Asking: how. or askins; when— 

With faint resolves, and merest seeming. 
Dutv calls for earnest men ! 



Then gird you np with strong endeavor ! 

Ever onward while you may ! 
Keep your trust aud hope forever. 

AViiilc God's finger points the way! 



L. G. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 167 



DREAM LIFE AND DAY LIFE. 



My life of two lives is woveu. 

Like scarlet inwoven with grey. 
And the one is a life in dream-land. 

And the other a life by day — 
Tlie other a life in the sunshine. 

Of passion and anxious pain ; 
But at night I shut my eyelids. 

And my dream-land" comes again. 

3Iy dream-land with mystical valleys. 

Where the music all in tune 
Of eolian lutes and fountains. 

Makes melody under the moon. 
Forever and ever repeating 

Its melody under the moon. 

That sets.' ah, all too soon I 

And the fog comes up from the fog-land. 
And hangs on the hilltops round 

Its misty, mysterious curtains. 
With never a rustle or sound — 

Comes up from the land of the rainbows. 

From the land of the mist and the rainbows, 
And its footsteps have no souiid 
On the emerald-covered ground. 



The winds, they are faint in the valleys. 
With drooping sleep by the streams, 

Tliat purl by the beautif id palace 
I have reared in my kingdom of dreams — 



l68 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

By the fitfully fantastic palace. 

I have reared for the oiueeu of ray ilroamn — 
Ttv the v>alace that lietli bo far off. 



lie palace tnar ii< 
lat I vinit it onlv 



That I vinit it only in dreams. 

Ah. never a soiTOw comes near me, 

And never an evil dream, 
Ah I lie by the dazzling fountains. 

Like rainbows that glitter and gleam — 
]Ae close by the dazzliuj^ fountains. 

Like rainbows that glitter and gleam — 
Like rainbows that rise from the woodland8, 

And bend till they fall again. 
With a vague, untuned music. 

Like the rippling cadence of rain — 
With a minor, monotonous music, 

liikc the cantoUate midence of rain. 

So all through the shndow-winged midnight, 

I hear but the laughing of streams. 
And the hours slip by me so noiseless, 

I note not their passing in dreams — 
And the hoiir.-i wear sandals so noiseless, 

I note not then* i)as8ing in dreams ; 
]iut 1 wake with a start and a shiver. 

And my dream-land fadeth away ; 
I hearken, but hear not the fountains ; 

1 gaze, and nee nothing but day. 

FRANCIS GERRY FAIRFIELD. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 1 69 



THANATOGAMIA. 

TuKY tolled the bell, a funeral knell, 

For the beauty when she died. 
And the sun did' wait at day's western gate. 

Like a hero for his bride. 
And sunbeams there kept mocking her hair, 

That humbled an angel's pride— 
In tangles candescent kept mocking her hair. 

Than ringlets rubescent of seraph more fair. 
And brighter, ah, blighter than all beside. 

The sweet moonlight, as she walked that night, 

Peeped in through the mndow pane, 
On the saintliest one that ever saw sun, 

Or ever shall see it again— 
On the saintliest dead that ever Death wed, 

Or ever shall wed again— 
That ever Death led to his marriage-bed, 

Whence bride never riseth again ! 

I kissed the lips of the maiden meek. 

That nevermore roses adorn. 
Yet never she stiiTed or answered a word, 

And drearily rose the morn ; 
But the wind and rain kept tapping the pane, 

As westerly walked the morn — 
With fitful fingers' kept tapping the pane— 
Kept tapping again, and again, and again, 

As if they would wake her at morn. 

For the soul of the dead was the ritual read, 

And sung was the burial song ; 
But never for shade hath a minister prayed, * 

That bore like beauty along, 
And never a hearse did celebrate verse, 

That bore like beantv along, 



170 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Nor before through rain did Death's bridal train 

Ever bear Hke beauty along, 
Nor again through rain "shall Death's bridal train 

Ever bear like beauty along ! 

The storm beat down o'er kirk and town, 

As her grave with clods they crammed, 
And over the walk did the raindrops tall^. 

Like moans of spirits damned — 
Were now and then heard to utter a word. 

Like the moan of a soul that is damned, 
As over the grass they pattered, ' ' Alas ! " 

And over the leaves, in sad semibrevea, 
" Alas, for th-e soul that is damned ! " 

And whether she sleeps as she lies down there, 

I have often pondered and prayed — 
As she lies down there with her golden hair. 

In many a beautiful braid ; 
Yes, whether she dream^s as she lies down tliere 

In the bed for her beauty made, 
For her face is as white as'the fog at night. 

Of her hair never moveth a braid, 
And no grass ever stirs with sv/eet pulses of 
hers. 

In the bed for his bride that death made. 

FRANCIS GEREY FAIRFIELD. 



TWILIGHT 

WuKN fades the di-owsy, dreamy day, 
And steals the sun through clouds away. 
And o'er the rocks, and streams, and wood, 
The gaunt, gray shadows, sulk and brood ;— 

Or* when soft shimmerings thrill the wave. 
And o'er the ocean phantom shadows creep ; 

When quick retires the whirlwind to Us cave, 
Sweeping the quivering surface of the deep : 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I71 

When the pale crescent beams with hquid hght, 
And the wild furies of the tempest sleep ; — 
When Silence rides upon the wings of Ni'^ht, 
And hovering sea-birds solemn stillness 
keep — 
With wistful eye I view the blue expanse — 
The sad moon gleaming down so mildly 

bright, 
Gilding the green waves with a glossy light, 
Its beams on stream supremely sportive dance : 
Or when the shade of nigiit comes slowly 
creeping on, 
And dullest glooms impurple the wide west ; 
And meadow-birds in eddying circles come 
Adown heaven's aisle, each to its grassy 
nest ; — 
Stealthy and still, with soft and soundless 
feet, 
The breathless shadows, damp and dull and 
dread, 
O'er mount "and moor, o'er hills and val- 
leys creep, 
And shroud in sable garb, the woods and 
mead. 

tender, death-presaging twilight shade ! 
My soul stands quivering 'mid the waves of 

life !— 

1 tire of rude and rough in things that fade— 
The bitter wrongs, the vexing scenes of 

strife !— 
I long to drift into more placid seas, ' 
Whei-e saddened souls may rest in blissful e^se ! 

L. G. R. 



172 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



IN GOD'S TEMPLE. 

THfS Sabbath morn, 'mid grateful shades and 
flowery dells, I rove, 

And worship in His temple-aisles, the God of 
life and love : 

The melody of birds is blent, with insect- 
voices sweet. 

As they from groves and grassy leas, their 
matin hjTnns repeat. 

'Twixt sedgy banks, the winding brook moves 

shiningly away. 
And all things that my eyes behold, smile 

joyo isly to-day ; — 
While in my heart, attuned to all, a stronger 

pulse of praise. 
Uplifts itself with nature here, than in the 

public ways. 

With crowning harvests bountiful, I view the 

fields bedight— 
Replete with fruitful promises, the orchards 

glad the sight ; — 
A balmy breath pervades the air, and all things 

near and far 
Proclaim the Living One, who dwells where 

His own glories are ! 

Yon amethystine arch above, so measureless, 

s<5 vast. 
Jlie grand highway of other worlds, by God's 

own wisdom cast, 
pans fittingly the scenes of this, wherein I 

humbly bring 
.. gi- iteful homage to the throne of Him, my 

Lord and King. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I73 

Though in the land are stately fanes, of many 

a creed and sect, 
I better love the temple wide, whose mighty 

Architect 
Accords each worshipper withal, the choice of 

time and place. 
Whereat to feel with inborn sense, his need of 

weal and grace. 

To mar one earnest pilgrim's faith, I would 
not cast a doubt, 

Nor would I have my own with gloom, en- 
compassed round about, 

For in this grand cathedral bright, to all Goo's 
creat.ires given, 

Is space enough for all to seek, the nearest 
path to Heaven ! 

OSCAU H. HAKPKL. 



THERE NEVER WAS. 

Thebf. never was an earthly dream, 

Of beauty and delight. 
That mingled not too soon with clouds, 

As sunrays with the night — 
That faded not from that fond heart, 

Where once it loved to stay. 
And left that heart more desolate, 

For having felt its sway. 

There never was a glad, bright eye, 

But it was dimmed with tears. 
Caused by such griefs as ever dull 

The sunshine of our years : 
We look upon the sweetest flower - 

'T is withered soon, and gone ; 
We gaze upon a star, to find 

But darkness where it shone. 



174 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

There never was a noble heai-t — 

A mind of ^yortll and power — 
That had not, m this sinful world. 

Some sorrow for its dower ! — 
The laurel on the brow, hath hid, 

From many a careless eye, 
The secret of the soul within — 

Its fount of agony ! 

There never was a restful soul. 

Unmoved by grief or pain ; 
Or sweetest hour of earthly bliss. 

Free from sad soiTOw's stain : 
We mark the dewdrops on the grass, 

In fhish of early day. 
Yet soon the seething sunraj's come, 

And di-ink them all away ! 

We view the mountains steeped in light, 
At the bright break of day ; 

Behold, how changed they are at night- 
How dull, and dense, and grsny ! 

So with the birds, in tuneful Spring — 
How sweet their song in May ! 

Nor thought they have, nor care they take, 
For blasts of winter's sway. 

There never was a bubbling fount — 

An ever-flowing spring. 
Whose waters, to the fevered Up, 

Unfailing we could bring ! 
A 11 changeth on Time's sinful shore, 

Or hides from mortal sight ; — 
Oh. for that world where Joy and Peace 

Keign endlesiS as the light ! 

L. G. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. T75 



'TIS SWEET TO DIE. 

Then the angel who Death's signet bore, 
Sped through the earth, and stood before 
A rustic cottage that skirted a lake, 
And made the startled dew-drops shake 
From qiiivering leaves of trembling trees, 
As her soft voice went out to the breeze : — 
"Death bringeth the royal seal to me ~ 
A passport to Life, in Eternity ! 

"Dear liord of Heaven ! beyond my sight, 
In purer world of radiant light. 
Where e'er immortal music rings, 
Struck from a harp of golden strings - 
Where seraphs, saints, and prophets high, 
With angels bright keep company — 
Oh, in Thy home, so radiant fair, 
Let Thy sweet smile shine on me there ! 

"Oh, let me cross the tideless river. 
And be at peace and rest forever ! - 
My soul looks out from longing eyes. 
To catch a glimpse of Paradise — 
Of endless day, in glory bright. 
Where darkness slu'inks away from sight !- 
Oh, bear me where the sun shines ever, 
In Realms of Rest, beyond Death's River ! 

A Christian maid she was. I ween, 
Who with the Savior long had been :— 
Her faith in Him was bright and strong, 
Who e'er had been her prayer and song : -- 
Her soul she fed on food divine - 
Ate of the bread, drank of the wine. 
The holy priest, still standing there, 
Had blest in rite of solemn prayo-r. 



176 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

When morning's first effulgent ray, 

Had ushered in the glorious day ; — 

When stars of night, like youth's fair dream, 

Had fled before the bright sunbeam. 

And silvery silence reigned around, 

Save bat the rippling river' t< sound, 

She turned to heaven a smiling eye, 

And softly said, '-'T is sweet to die ! " 

L. G. R. 



TO MY HARP. 

Haup ! — and must thy warblings cease ! 
Are all thy plaintive murmurings o'er? 

Shall Fancy float her silken fleece 
Of cadence, o'er my heart no more ? 

And must I wake this farewell strain. 
And when its echoes all ai-e through, 
Bid it a last, a sad adieu, 

Nor list its melody again ? 

Ah, no ! — for oft have I beguiled 
Sad moments with thy music wild ; — 
And oft thy sweetest tones are heard. 
Like warblings of some wandering bird. 
Borne hence from some far distant clime ; 
And Boi't as sweet thy silvery chime : - 
And oft some fancy, in 'my slumbers — 

Some wingf'd breath hath touched a tone, 
^ pleading, passionate wild strain, 
Whose chords reverberate again. 
Like angel bands with golden lyre, — 
That sweep its strings with hands of fire, — 
Till, startled with its weirdly numbers, 

I 've waked, to echo back thine own ! 

Though worthier bards thy strains may wake, 

1 never can thy charm forsake. 

Sweet lyre, whose soft, entrancing strain. 
Shall still my restless heart again ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 1 77 

Oh, lay on my bosom, sweet Muse of my joy, 

And bring me dear dreams no fear can de- 
stroy ; 

Oh, touch with thy finger my languishing 
lyi'e. 

And sweetly its chords with thy passion in- 
spire. L. a. R. 



V I G I L. 

The air is still. From many towers 
The stroke of deep nocturnal bells 
Booms sullen through the dark, and tell* 

To man, the fleetness of his hours. 

Dew-drenched the lattice lilacs weep : 
The waning street-lamp winks and dies ; 
Beyond, the lazy river lies, 

And heaves its breast in summer sleep. 

There, like a pendulmn of light, 
The lantern at the mast-head swings ; 
And casts its green and crimson rings 

O'er the dusk water through the night. 

Like some grim Cyclops, looming dire, 
Three miles away the lighthouse stands, 
Lone guardian of his realm of sands - 

A spectre, with an eye of fire. 

To broken dreams that come and go, 
And leave me wretched, I arise, 
To lounge about the balconies, 

And watch the large pale stars and slow, 

23 



1 78 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

That move across the solemn skies, 
To sink l>ehind the distant slopes - 
Sad symbols of my vanished hopes. 

That once were dreams of Paradise I 



Yet as the lily lifts her bright ^ 
Dew-thirsty, golden-throated vase, 
I upward look to drink the grace 

And tender influence of the night. 

The slow hours linger toward the mom ; 

The lonely thoroughfares are still ; 

And waning o'er the western hiJl, 
Dim Dian dips her silver horn. 

All day with unremittent glare. 
The sun has poxired his ardent rays, 
And after long midsummer days, 

Brief night scarce cools the heated air. 

Yet well I know along the lands, 

Liixuriaut vegetation shoots ; 

And Autumn waiteth with her fruits, 
To drop them in the toiler's hands ! 

H. S. C. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 179 



JULY. 

O BKiGiiT July ! once more inspire, 
The mnsic of a languid lyre, 
So by thee aided I mgy chime 
Thy various music with my rhyme, 
That he who reads this rune, may feel, 
Some magic sweetness o'er him steal. 

O, perfect month of rose-crowned year ! 

Season of fruits, and flowers so rare ! 
Month of all months, the month most dear !— 

Of all the months, the month most fair ! 
Jii morning's bright impurpled light, 
Behold, how royal is the sight ! 
In these, thy soft beguihng days. 
The hours are bathed in silvery haze. 
Whilst thou, with rosy smiles "serene, 
i^rrayedin scarlet, bhie and green, 
Dost dance to strains of summer lutes. 
Or pattering fall of ripened fruits ; - 
Or when, amid the azure sheen, 
J'hou bendest lo^v, with regal mien. 
And flood'st the earth with'forms of light, 
Yv^e miss the faint, fair isles of Night, 
As erst, at noon, dost statelv stand. 
Filling with beauty all the Laud. 

NoAv wave fair fields of golden wheat, 

And mottled miles of clover sweet, 

And yellow plumes of waving corn 

The marges of oat-fields adorn— 

Vv'hile 'neath some fleece of cloiid that sweeps 

The arches of the nightly skies, 

Nature in blissful shimber lies. 
And earth its sacred silence keeps. 



fSo MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 

And now we pluck thj- roses pure— 
The flak}' white, the carmine red — 
That tell of love that shall endure, 
And gather buds with bright ej^es wet. 
That tell that tears shall not forget. 

When we are thronging with the dead. 
And ere the faded leaves shall fall, 
Hope from our hearts shall sure recall 
The faith we phght amid fresh flowers — 
The trust that comes in silent hours ! 

Amid pale lOacs Tyrian glow, 
Magnolias wave their plumes of snow ; 
While o'er green seas of waving grass, 
With softest sighs sweet breezes pass ; 

Or here or there the shadows rest, 
Afl through thick wood or o'er high wall 
The straggling sunbeams slanting fall — 

Bearing soft sunshine on their breast ! 

Oh, sweet to me, these long, long days— 

These days of fruits and flowers ! 
Long have I waited long delays, 

A nd dreamed of these sweet hours — 
Tliese hours of joy, so surely found. 

In thee, ripe month, and sweet ! — 
Thou hast my heart so firmly bound, 

I lay it at thy feet ! — 
A nd while life's wOd unrest shall last, 
My soul shall reach to bright scenes past ! 

L. G. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POExMS. l8l 



THE HOME OF LIGHT. 

'T 18 sweet to know our souls may reach, 
Beyond this weary vale of tears, 

And knowledge gain, sad souls to teach, 
To brighten life through wasting years. 

For with the radiant light of truth. 
Its glow to shed on Avaning face. 

Old age may wear the garb of youth, 
And pain assume a cheerful "grace. 

Methinks I stand on Sion's hills, 
Where cloudless beauty ever reigns. 

And look upon the life that fills 
The splendor of its sunny plains. 

Methinks I hear, in sweetest chime. 
The murmurs of that crystal flood, 

Whose streams, before the birth of Time, 
Flowed from the glorious Throne of God ! 

I seem to tread its pastures green. 
And rest within its fadeless bowers, 

Where life to our freed souls shall seem 
One holy day of blissful hours ! 

When this wild fancy— when the dream 
Of fitful hf e full soon shall close. 

What joy upon our souls shall beam, 
Undimmed by aiight of care or woes ! 

For He. who touches with the Ught 
Of Heavenly truth, the soul of man, 



1 83 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Hath set fall many a hope as bright, 
Above our being'y darkened span. 

And from His Word'H hif^h firmament, 
Ivich promises, like stars, shine out, 

To raise the soul by sorrow bent, 

And cheer the heart opprest by doubt. 

L. G. R. 



THE CHRISTIAN'S FAITH. 

FnoM thi'eat'uing ill. 
Faith doth the Christian shield ; 

Before F-.iith's will. 
E'en powers of darkness jield ! 
Though Satan's vengeful host 

Hell's darts should hurl. 
Their godless zeal is lost — 

Faith saves the soul. 



Faith lifts the screen, 
And heavenly portals ope ; 

Of things uuseen. 
Faith is the sinner's hope : 
Through Faith we comprehend 

Of naught He framed the earth 
'T was Faith's strong hana. 

That gave creatioii birth. 

From sin and death. 
Faith lifts man into life , 

His strength Faith-fed, 
He conquers e'er in strife ; 
If weary. Faith imparts 

Abundant might ; 
Gloom shrouds his heart, 

But Faith clothes it with light. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 183 

To Hinful inau, 
Faith ope's the door of Heaven ; 

Christ's holy plan 
Of Mercy is thus given : 
Saved by His blood, through Faith, 

V/e may be brave. 
Nor fear the pangs of death. 

Nor dread the <'rave, l. o. b. 



FAITHLESS. 

He glanced at me with half a sneer. 

I read no Idndness in his eye ; 
The -welcome smile of many a year, 

Was absent when he passed me by, 

F.rewhile we twain had shared the past, 
With mutnal pledges of esteem, 

And vowed Avhiie tnith and life should lant, 
Affection's sun should ever beam. 

Thus, in the truer days of yore. 
We roved companions hand-in-hand, 

Along a wide and shining shore, 
That proved at last a shifting sand. 

His path by fortune's favors blest, 
Diverged from mine begirt with toil, 

His haven glowed with peace and rest. 
While mine was marred with care and moil. 



Alas, that such a change should be ! 

His wealth proved but a widening wedge, 
To sever one beloved from me. 

And wound me with its icy edge. 



I?4 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

I ■was. pei'chanee, too lowly placed, 
To reach to one who bent not down ; 

Yet he my fondest trust disgraced, 
And Hcorned me with a faithless frown. 



And late, when by a chance we met. 
His eyes betrayed his broken vow : — 

I will forgive— l" would forget. 

The bond of friendshii) wortJdess now. 
o.sciii H. iiAi;PH.. 



(;0D HELP THE POOK. 

Go I) help the sulTering poor to-night, 

That crowd each miseral.»le haunt, 
And struggle in a noisesome thrall, 

Througli lives of wretchedness and want ; 
And ye Avho have enough to spare, 

And ye in worldly pomp arrayed, 
Count not your wealth as all your own. 

When earth's lorn creatures plead for aid. 

Uplift the lowly ones when woe 

Or weakness makes their burdens great ; 
Speak kindly — 't is no waste of words, 

To brighten even thiis their state ; 
Go cheer the stricken souls that droop. 

And let them feel another s breast 
Can bear them charity and balm, 

To help their faintness and unrest. 

Go forth, ye proud, if but to know 
How small the labor it requires 

To gladden poverty's despaLr, 
And light love's beatific fires : 

Think not misfortune's children stand 
Without a claim, aboiit vour gates, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 1 85 

But know that Hk who gave shall mark, 
Thy stewardship of His estates.. 

Oh, man! assist thy brother man, 

And if temptation cast him down, 
His brother pilgrim in life's way, 

Let thy good deeds for him atone : 
If braver, thou shalt falter less. 

Still thank the Hand that keeps thee strongs 
And do thy share to stay distress, 

Though come of weakness or of wrong. 

Of^CAR H. HAKPEL. 



PLAINT. 

The long days came anon and went, 

And brought again 
Eich, ripened fruit, on branches bent, 
*• 'Mid sun and rain. 



A rosy bower I had when young- 
Sweet birds sang there ; 

I loved its leaves to rest among. 
And list their air. 



And noAv the sun, with dreamv light, 

The valley fills, 
Or wraps in dull and dismal sight. 

The distant hills. 

Oh sun ! oh moon I so fair of yore — 

And silvery star ! — 
God made the After and Before — 

The near and far ! 
24 



1 86 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Sweet sibter, I am growing old. 

As years depart ; 
But faster still is growing cold, 

Mv boyhood heart ! 



As fades each vine and Haunting flower 

At Winter's call, 
80 the sad leaves of Life's young bower 

Decay and fall. 



Long years have passed since last we met. 

In childhood's day ; 
I think of thee as unchanged yet — 

Gladsome and "av. 



Saddened and stricken, thus I stand, 

.\nd long in vain, 
And reach toward the Morning Land, 

The Past to gain ! 



Stern Time hath set upon my brow "* 

Its seal of care, 
Tho^^gh memories bright are playing now 

Like sunbeams there. 



In early years, when loved by thee. 

I knew not sin : — 
An errant life has brought to me 

Sad change within. 

I wonder oft if it be true, 

In realms afar, 
I shall, beyond the heavenly blue, 

Greet thee, my Star ! 

Meek, prayerful. I make low repine 
I weep and pray— 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 187 

And long to bear the Voice divine, 
Call me awav ! 



And now, my heart goes ont afar — 

Sweet tones I hear — 
As though glad angels thronged the air, 

And came anear I 

Not by the slow-revolving sun. 

We measure years, 
But by the deeds and actions done— 

By smiles and tears ! 

I know thou dost not love me less — 

Thy roving brother. 
Than when at home we used to press 

Around oui- mother. 

Upon my cheek I often feel 

Thy sister's kiss. 
While o'er my spirit softly steal 
Sweet dreams of bliss. 

What mean these sad. foreboding sighs, 
i Of Hope and Fear ?~ 

This reaching out of heart, and cries 
For one so dear ? 

All love, all thought, ail pain, all jov, 

My bosom throng, 
And though a man, I seem again a bov. 

Unknowing wrong ! 

Affection's unsealed fountains start 

To life agaiM, 
While on the desert o f my heart 

Descends the va.n f 



S8 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Sweet sister ! turn thy saintly eye 

In prayer to Heaven, 
As when we knelt in days gone by, 

At morn and even. 

And when thou kneel'st, at close of day. 

Think of another. 
Who by thy side was taught to pray — 

Thy truant brother — 

That he, in Land of love and tinith,— 

Of light and power — 
May live the pure, sweet life of youth, 

In fadeless bower ! ' l. o. b. 



AFTEK READING WHITTIER'S CHICAGO. 

Our noblest poet-sage hath sung 
A strain that like a blessing falls. 

And wafts away the gloom that hung 
O'er sad Chicago's shattered walls. 

Through all the land his words vibrate, 
And bear a fruitage pure and good. 

Uplifting to Hope's shining gate. 
One crushed with sudden widowhood. 

No sweeter notes than his have borne 

To yon lorn City of the West, 
The love that made her cease to mourn, 

And Jiealed with cheer her stricken breast- 

• ' The angel in the human heart " 
Sped swift to succor and to bless, 
'Mid rav9 ed temple, home, and mart, 
She ml-dstered God's tendcruesc-. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 189 

New fanes and dearer homes will rise 
From the giim ruins of the flames, 

And men led forth by fair emprise. 
Will strive with purer, holier aims. 



Where late the vengeful lire-fiend held 
The woful carnival of Avrack, 

Again shall hearts hj faith im]3elled, 
Bring more than former beautv back. 



By grateful tongues will oft be told 
Where a nel^ city soon shall be. 

How Christian hearts yearned for the old, 
With love's spontaneous sympathy. 

And he, the white-robed priest of song, 
Whose tunefiil harp their souls have 
cheered, 

Shall win thanksgivings from the throng, — 
Beloved, exalted, and revered. 

1871. OciCATl H. HARPEL. 



SONNET. 

The perfumed seasons softly come and go : 
Filled with the rapture of some sweet sur- 
prise, 
Serenely bright are thy soft, tender eyes : 

The birds sweet carol : tuneful rivers flow. 



Beneath some shadow, gone past all recall, 
We seek for purest gold, but only dross we 
find; 
Or when at Beauty's feet so low we fall. 
Our hearts are shaken like some shattered 
mind. 



190 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

But in thy soul, ao pui'e, there lurks no 

guile — 
Thy laugh is sweeter far than music's tone ; 
And mild thou art, thou meek and gentlo 

cue, 
With form of grace, sweet voice, and seraph 

smile : — 
Thy life retlects the rays of cultured mind, 
SAveetly by Virtue crowned, by Truth re- 

iined ! l. g. e. 



SONNET. 

Rkai) in mine eyes dear love! for speech is 
cold 
My hopes and fears in fulness to convey ! 
These blissful moments are too bright to 
stay. 
And words of passion must remain untold. 

O morn ! whose glory changeth into gloom ! 

O feet ! to fleet to fly the Asian shore ! 
O beaming glory ! sent to screen some secret 
doom ! — 

Beyond this life there lieth something more ! 

Say, doth serener, sweeter bliss await 
Earth's mated souls who may not love de- 
clare ? — 
In brighter Lands, will they be mated there ? 

Death nor the grave can bring me dread 

nor ill ! — 
More kind t'lan life! — oh, corae and quick 
distil 
Nepenthe's draught, down by the Golden Gate. 

L. o. E. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I9I 



SONNET. 

The fairest flowei* that decks the earth, is 
Love ! 
We see the rosebud thrill from tiny face. 
Its head low bent with calm and qidet grace : 

In silent prayer we turn our thoughts above. 

Because to me but little bliss hath come — 
Though varied seasons perfumed come 
and go — » 

Love's sweetest joy, to gild my rising sun. 
In shoreless river hath its rise and flow ! 

Yet from such love we reap the tield of pain ! 
Our hearts we wreck on some sweet, saintly 

shiine : 
We kneel to all but angel form divine. 

Kissed by the beams of fragrant niornlng 

sun, 
From sacred hights alone shall peace be 
won - 
There we shall live in newer love again I 

L. o. R. 



MEMENTO. 

PEACEFn LY folded hands, 

Across the breast ! 
Their work of guiding the erring one — 
Their work of lifting the fallen — done ; 

At last thev rest ! 



19a MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Patient and tireless feet ! 

No more their fall 
Will csiTi'y joy to the bed of pain ! 
Of the voice of want, thev never again 

Will heed the call. 

O tranquil, quiet face ! 

The smile is dead 
That brouj^ht such peace to the stxieken one. 
Piercing the darkness like the sun, 

With the light it shed. 

Faithful and tender heart ! 
The fount is dry, 
That sweetened many a' bitter stream- 
That led sad souls to see* the gleam 
Of the Throne on hi^li 1 

O soul that will complain ! 

• Canst thou not see 
Through the dim shadows of dull RnMit, 
Death briugoth darkened souls to light. 
In blisH to be I 

Spirit we loved, recalled 

By Him who gave : 
Long shall you seem a l^eacon bright, 
Guiding dark souls to realms of Light. 

lieyond the grave ! 

Naught that He made i.i vaiu ! — 
In darkest night 
The meekest stars only more radiant shine !— 
80, through dull gloom, touched by a liOve 
divine. 
We see the Light I 

Merciful Savior ! grant 
That we may be 
Trustful, like her, iii Thy boun>oous love — 
Sharers, with her, of Thy home above- 
Near unto Thee ! 1.. o. p.. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I93 



THE KING BEAUTIFUL. 

In a weird and wonderful kingdom, 

Over and over a star-litten sea, 
Whither shadow-ships sail through the mocn- 
iight pale, 

To the puke of a lonesome melody — 
Whither shadow-ships tioat to the titfui note . 

Of a lonesome melody. 
Which a harper weird, with shining beard, 

Fierce from the strmgs smites be — 
High on iiis throne, in state alone. 

This wonderful kmg sits he. 
And the ships that stu- are mere gossamer — 

Things merely painted so ; 
And the winds that stir the ships that stir, 

Like beautiful things with painted wings. 
They would raffle no palm from its slambrous 
calm, 

In their journey to ind fro. 
r. n;i they that sail in the goblin ships, 

They are gobhn seamen too ; 
And they make not a sound as, thitherward 
bound, 

They plough the moonlights through. 

And in this curious kingdom, 

In dutiful homage to him, 
There sing in marvellous story 

The sleepless seraphim — 
In golden and ghostly story, 

And robes like the sun for gloiy, 
There sit and sing the seraphim. ' 

Strange minors like a river 
Moan from their harps forever, 
25 



194 MISCET.LANEOUS POEMS. 

In bomage unto him ; 
And theii- 80ng forevermore Is 

Of all the golden glories 
That radiate from him. 

And the harper weird, with shining beard. 
Who Htands afar in the night, 

Itfi ebb and swell he marks full well. 
And smites the hai-p with might. 

Its people are dreams Elvsian, 

And creatures of beauty that never sleep ; 
They are seen by the poet's vision, 

Over and over this starlitten deep, 
Where with metrical heat in their ceaseless 
feet. 

To the monody motion they keep — 
Where, witb metrical time in their restless 
rhyme, 

To the monody motion they keep. 
And the harper weird, with shining beard, 

Who stands afar in the night. 
He seeth them as things in dream. 

And smites the harp with might. 

They wander through the valleys, 

There is melody in their feet. 
And melody in the motion 

Of the beautiful things they meet — 
Yes, melody is the motion. 

Like the rfajnue and ripple of a restless 
ocean. 
In everv' beautiful thing they meet. 

And the harper weird, with shining beard, 
Who stands afar in the night. 

Its strange control feels in his soul. 
And smites the harp with might. 

For in these high dominions, 

In glor}' sits the king, 
Whose heart-beat moves the pinions 

Of every beautiful thing, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS I95 

With a masiic ^yell-befittiu■>. 

The glory of so high a king. 
Sits high within his palace, 

So marvellously wrought 
That its melodies tell by their ebb and swell 

Of the glory of his thought — 
That its melodies float with a sleepless note 

To the impulse of his thought : 
For the zej^phyrs within that fold their wings, 

And the fire-like seraphim, 
And the gilded halls, and the painted walls, 

Their music take from him : 
And the harper weird, with shining beard, 

Who staiads in the nicht so dim. 
And the ships that plough the moonlight 
through, 

Their music take from him ^ 
And their burden evermore ia 

Of all the golden glo3'ies 
That being have in him. 

And not a wind there dallies 
Through the phantasmal valleys, 

But feels his weird control. 
And flies away from the palace, 

With miv^iic in its soul, 
And a seraph evermore is, 

With all the golden glories 
Of music for its soul. 

Ah, did I dwell in this kingdom 

Of every beautiful thing, 
As wild as ever seraph. 

In glory would I sing - - 
With a wilder fire than the seraph's lyre 

Ever hath, would I worship my king — 
By the vapory gleams of the starlit streams. 

Over this sea where my liege sits he, 
Would I worship my ruler and king— 

'Mid the glories that enthrall me. 
And thrill yet so appal me, 

Would I worship my ruler >* nd king. 



196 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

But this beautj^ this beauty ideal. 

That burns iu my blood like the fever of 
wine, 
•That I see in dreams by the starlit streams, 

Shall never and neveV be mine — 
Shall never, ah, never be real 

To this song-haunted spirit of mine. 
This beauty Elysian I conjure in vision, 

Shall never, ah, never be mine. 
Though its ereatures long wait at the far-off 
gate. 

That gleams in the white stai-shine — 
Though they beckon to me far over the sea, 

Where they gleam in the white starshine, 
And their hands so white are like mist in the 
night, 

As they swing in the white starsliine. 
I listen, I hear — it comes over the weir. 

Like a goblin song thi'ough the whole night 
long ; 
But its music shall never be mine. 

Thus, harper weird, with shining beard, 
The human stands and sings. 

And wreaks his son! with weird control, 
Upon the vibrant strings ; 

But, ah, the secret of the song 
Remains a sealed cist — 

I strain my sight athward the night, 
I cannot see for mist. 

rUANCIS GERBY FAIRFIELD. 



LOVE'S QUEST. 

To-NJ«Hr my spirit floats adream 
With yearning thoughts and wistful sighs, 

Far down the beatific stream 

That iavcs the shores of Paradise. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I97 

And as it drift • the depths among, 

Allured by one irradiant star, 
Etherial voices breathe a song 

Sweet as the strains where angels are. 

Oh, cheering tongues — oh, thoughts divine. 

Ye charm av.'ay my heart's deep pain ;— 
Sweet star, guide thou this bark of mine. 

Until it reach the heavenly main. 

Guide on, still on, my longing soul, 

Toward that haven of delight. 
Of Life's inspiring hope the goal, 

Where Joy uplifts her beacon light ! 

OSCAR H. HAKPEL. 



RUE. 



I AM sad to-night, and the autumn rains 
Stream from my storm-swept window panes, 
Like the unconquerable tears 
Of Grief, remembering happier yeaii? ! 
And yet what is it, O sighing Soul — 
This sorrow thou canst not control ? 

My night-lamp fainter and fainter grows, 
Like the dying heart that seeks repose, 
Only in death — that slimiber deep — 
That last, long, visionless, perfect sleep, 
Where, when the lamp of hope expires," 
Sink with it all our wild desires. 

For I muse in a chamber quaint and old, 
Of a presence it never more may hold, 
Of her sun-sheen hair of rippled gold, 
And a carven marble so white and cold, 
Out there in the rain ; but, alas, in vain 
Love longs for the vision back again ! 



198 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And about the antique, ebony bed, 
The tapestries Htir Hke robes of the dead ; 
And a ghostly breeze creeps over the floor. 
Like the ei.'^h.-? of those who have gone before - 
The sweet, white Souls whose footsteps rove 
The asphodel fields of the Laud of Love. 

For I remember the marble lips. 
And the meek eyes closed in death's eclipse, 
Of a maiden whose sister-roses wept 
Their dews for her as she coldly slept — 
The roses and rueful rue they spread 
Dying with her, on that silken bed ! 

And the lustrovis lilies that shone less fair. 
Than the radiance rare of her hyacinth hair, 
And the bridal-daisies, not half so meek 
As her alabaster-blanc^hed cheek, 
As she lay in the chastened and sober gloom, 
Of that hemlock-odorous, silent room. 

And thus it is, O desolate rain ! 

I am tortured by thoruH of nameless pain. 

As you bring on your dismal, demon-wings, 

Heai-t.-breaking thoughts of happier things — 

And maddening memories that tear 

l\Iy heart with agonies of despair ! 

And thus "my spirit is sad to-night, 

And bluri'ed with the clouds of undelight, 

When I think of the dear, dead lost who sleep, 

Under the green grave-grasses deep : 

And I long to add to the church-yard row, 

The tablet of one who sleeps below. 

H. S. C. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I99 



SONNET. 

The hidden pulses of my throbbing heait. 

In sweetest unison beat with thy own ; 

In Bpirit-Iove my soiil thy soul hath known — 
Two soulful livefi no more may live apart. 

Linked in the spirit bonds of constancy, 

My soul instinctive shrinks from outward 

show ; 
But thy true heart knows how true mine 
may be — 
Wliile thy true eyes with true love gleam and 
glow. 

O, dear old story, over new and young I 
Sweet spirit-love, that" cometh through all 

ages- 
Love that hath tinted time, and writ glad 
pages ; 
• By poets rhymed, and minstrels sweetly sung ; 
A love that more than earthly love is sweet— 
A love that more than all makes life com- 
plete ! 

L. G. R. 



HERSELF. 

SwbET visioL^ of her saintly face come o'er 
me — 
Her mild, sweet face, now gone so far away ; 
And dreams of radiant beauty dance before 
me, . 
Like perfume of the sweetest rose in May ; — 
And musing thus, in this soft, stilly hour. 
A sacred spell holds me in williug power. 



200 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

I know sweet floweru bloom sv.oeter for her 

beiujj-, 
And tiiiiofiil birda sing- bweetta" lor her 

Bcein^ ! — 
More fan' in she at moruing'B balmj' hour. 
Thivu maiden iiiiah of timid opening liower ; — 
With modeat grace, and quiet, queenly air ; 
With tiaahing eyerj, and Boft and raven hair ; 
And fragile form — fair face wreathed with a 

HUiile, 
Reflecting truth- unknowing sin or guile, 
iier gluncG is the brightest. 
Her footytep the lighfeCHt ; 
If er heart'n fount of gladuesn, 
Knows no sighing nor sadness ; — 
She my sunshine is, and treasure, 
She my joy, beyond all measure I — 
O, heart so true I that knows not pasyion'n 

j(low. 
Pure is thy Ijosom as the ;it;iin]eHS snow ! 

O, gentle one. of saintly lirow I -- 

So sweetly p;;re in halloAved thought! 
With reverence. I lowly Ijdw. 

My soul with sacred sentence fraught ; 

And here, 'mid glancing gleams of light, 

Dancing thi-ough darkened halls of Night, 

Like Idy-buas bent to the stream, 

Lovely and pale, seems in my dream 

A white-i-6bed presence— (sweet surprise !) — 

Too pure to clasp in love's embrace, 
With radiaub light in loving eyes. 
And thy own beaming, angel face I 

And this is the vision that came to me, 
From the mystical Dream-Land over the Sea ! 

L. G. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 20!: 



THE WHITE LADY. 

IjAst night, while all the village slept, 
She came — the lady robed iu white; 

None heard as through the streets she atept, 
Her footfall was so ghostly light. 

She cast her mautle o'er the lands, 

Like a pall for the lifeless earth below ; 

As she sifted from her elfin hands. 
The soft and feathery flying snow. 

The fox crept back into his lurch, 
The stormy flakes so swiftly flew, 

And the owl that shivered on his perch. 
Heard her song as the night-wind blew. 

But the sleepers in the churchyard old, 
Could not hear her low refrain, 

As she di'ew above them in the cold, 
Her smooth and spotless counterpane. 

The sad yews sighed as she hurried liy, 
And shook their phantom arms so bare ; 

And obelisks and headstones high 
Stood like ghosts in the whitened air I 

About the woodland's cold cascade*, 
She works to build her magic halls, 

And piles the road with barricades- 
White winrows or fantastic walls. 

She whirls, she sweeps o'er moor and mere, 
And dances down the shuddering air, 

In gTists that stiffen white with fear 
The lonelv henilock's hoarv liair 1 
26 



202 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

On barren waste or windy hill, 
Or deep in mountain-passes lone, 

The weird White Laily works her will, • 
And makes the frosty hours her own ! 

H :s. c. 



A MORNING HYMN. 

To Thee, let my first offering rise 

Whose sun creates the day. 
Swift as its influence cleaves the skies, 

And spotless as its ray. 

Throughout this day Tliy hand be nigh ; 

Preserve me as before ; 
Still lead, and all my wants supply, 

I'hou, whom I e'er adore. 

Thv blissful providence impart, 
In bounteous measure, Lord ; 

With gratitude imbue my heart, 
While I peruse Thy Word. 

Afflictions, should Tliy love bestow, 

In chastisement for sin, 
Patient 1 11 bear the smarting blow — 

Thy goodness, still will hymn. 

This day, whate'er my varying fate, 

Some virtue let me gain, 
That Heaven to me a low estate 

May not have lent in vain. 

Be this and every future day 

More holy than the past, 
That, treading in thy chosen way, 

I may reach Home at last ! 

L. G. R. 



MISCEI-LANEOUS POEMS 203 



'NEATH THE TOMBSTONES GBAY. 

Sleep they 'neath tombstones gray, 
Nor mind the blue-bird's sweet lay, 
Nor see the buuny day 
Breaking through clouds away : 
Weep we for young and gay, 
Mould'ring 'neath tombstones gray. 

Mothers but raem'ries fold 
To hearts so sorrow-cold ; 
For they, with curls of gold, 
Cherished with joys untold, 
Sleep in the silent mold 
Under the tombstones old. 

Fathers in grief deplore 
Darling ones now no more,* 
Who glanced their way befoie, 
Like rays from Heaven's shore ; 
Could grief or love restore, 
Tears would no longer pour. 

Resting 'neath tombstones gray, 
Through liie's brief sunny day ; 
While other denr ones play 
They with the flowers decay : 
Weep we for young and gay, 
Sleeping 'neath tombstones gray. 

Sad winds are moaning low. 
Filling the air with wo, 
Where the dark grasses grow ; 
O, let the heart's tears flow ; 
Let wet eyes sorrow show, 
For the dear dead laid low. 

L. G. R. 



204 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



TV E T v; O. 

When you and I are asleep, my love, 

Under the carven stone ; 
Who will there be left to weep, my love, 

Of all that we have known ? 
But the lark will sing as clear and free, 
As he springs from his n^st by the alder tree, 
And the robin carol his heart's desire, 
Above as, in the i*ed ro'?e brier. 



Though youi- voice is low and weak, my deal, 

There is love-light in your eye ! 
Though the rosea fade from your cheek, my 
dear. 

Love's roses never die ! 
But it 's for the long and lasting sleep 
Where the wild- wood honeysuckles creep ! 
Under the violets to lie, 
And let the weary world go by. 

H. s. c. 



HO-HEN FAIRFAX. 

[VlRGISIA, 1862.] 

At Fairfax, where our rum got low, 
With nary "smile" — nor place to go 
To get a "tod"— ah, me! what wo ! 

No hotel looms up cheerily. 
But back-and-forth we 're bidden pace. 
To guai'd this God forsaken place ; 
How can Abe Lincot,n have the face 

To make us "mud-sills" suffer so ! 

L. G. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. i 205 



E T E R N I T Y'S BELL. 

The blest chimes are over : 

But yet in the soul 
Let their harmouv linger, 

And tenderly roll. 

Of that sacred love tell nj;, 
He breathes o'er the world, 

T^rophetic cf wur-fligs 
Forevermore fmrlei. 

Their mue-ic must linger ; 

Oh! why should it not 
Make brighter and softer 

Our life's rudest spot ? 

Glad eongs of dear Christmas, 

Thy memories swell, 
Prophetic of chimes, from 

Eternity's bell, 

That shcill never be over, 

But roll and still roll 
Boundless rapture of peace, through 

Each paradised soul. 

WILLIAM BOSS WALLACE. 



ri870.] 

There was a little man, oud he had a little 
gun ; 
'T was a ( has!=epat-rifle, T hear ; 
He went to Saarbruck, but he did n't bag a 
duck, 
Tho' he got a big flea in his ear : — 
For another little man. he had a Needle-gun, 

And prepar'd to defend the border ; 
He hied to Saarbruck, and at once began to 
cook 
The Chassepot goose in good order. b. 



206 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



THE SUNSET CITY. 

There's a city that lies in the kingdom of 
clouds, 

In the glorious country on high, 
Which au azure aud bilvery curtaiu enshrouds, 

To screen it from mortal eye. 

A city of temples and turrents of gold, 

That gleam by a sapphire sea, 
Like jewels more eplendid than earth may 
behold, 

Or are dreamed of by you and fey me. 

Aud about it are highlands of amber that 
reach 

Far away till they melt in the gloom ; 
And waters that hem an immaculate beach 

With fringes of luminous loam. 

Aerial bridges of pearl there are, 
And belfries of marvellous shapes, 

And lighthouses lit by the evening star, 
That sparkle on violet capes ; 

And hanging gardens that far away 

Knchaut dly float aloof ; 
Rainbow pavilions in avenues fifay, 

And banners of glorious woof I 

Vvhen the summer sunset's crimsoning fires 

Are aglow in the western sky. 
The pilgrim discovers the dome-^ and spires 

Of this wonderful city on high ; 

And gazing enrapt as the gathering shade 

Creeps civer the twihght lea, 
Sees pa'ace and pinnacle totter and fade, 

And sink in the sapphire sea ; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 207 

1 ill the vision loses by slow degrees 

The magi'-al ^plendor it wore : 
The silvery curtain is drawn, and he sees 

The beautiful city no m^re ! 

H. s C. 



ALLTE DIED TO-DAY. 

IE E., SON OF HORACE C. WILCOX DIED 
FEBRUARY 18, 1870- 

Lay the little limbs out straight, 

Gently tend the sacred clay, 
Sorrow shaded is our fate — 
Allie died to-day. 

Fold soft hands across the breast, 

So, as when he knelt to pray ; 
Leave him to his dreamless rest — 
Allie died to-day. 

Darling voice to Heaven's shore 

Wafted, cheers no more our way, 
But is hush'd forevermore — 
Allie dieJ to-day. 

Smiling eyes, whose sunny gleams 
Made our waking moments gay. 
Now can shine but in our dream-: — 
Allie died to-day. 

Still a smile is on hi- f ice. 

But it lacks the joyous play 
Of thn one we used to trace — 
Allie died to-day. 

Give bis lips our latest kiss, 

Dry our eyes, tind come away ; 
In a iavighter world than this, 

Allie lives to day. l. o. r. 



208 MISCELLANEOUS POEM??. 



A DEAD LIFE. 

Ykllow leaves, all blotted o'er ; 

Hurried scrawls, with tear-marks dried 
Pages with one f moy filled — 

These she wrote before she died. 



Flowers pressed between the leaves, 
Dry and broken, ten years old ; 

Violets for the (ii'st love-dream, 
Tansies that have lo-it their gold. 

Dates that follow close and fast — 
Heie and there a cross beside, 

Ju'^t to mark the holy days, 
That she kept before she died. 

Bits of mirth that flicker through. 

Fancies changing with the hours ; 
Little 8(!raps of halting rhyme. 

Fall of stars and spiral showers! 

Moonlight, ro^ea, music, love ; 

Ah, the world, whate'or betide, 
Kftpt some Eden-bowers for her. 

Free to dream in ere she died ! 



Whispers of a buried past— 

Poor mad child! whose thoughts could stray, 
SeeMner after buried things, 

Only back to yesterd'iy ! 

Huugiy hopes for years to come — 
Patience. Lord ! 't wa-* Thou denied ; 

P>y the same old need, I kuow 
I was once tliat child who died ! 

N. O. HASTINGS. 



ISKSCEIXAXEOUS ?OEM8 50^ 



WfNTER WINDS, 

WusN I the winter wind can h«ar, 
And b itiiely sings \he hem'ock^re©, 

And tbs mooil'a blim ^ckle glitters <dea»5 
Oxa a November «ea, 

So brav-e a naood the reason shotrs, 
He flnda me Jolly day by day ; 

I let my carus uie witii the rose, 
Aad ail my songs are gay I 

So merrily then the Frost -Kng shakes 
The tnuwy powder from his locks ; 

So merrily through ihe fro«eu brakes 
1 track the hungry lox," 

Or when the eirchanted floods congeal 
By tiight lo cry^al paveiueuts, bind 

On eager f eot the sounding steel, 
And leave tlie wind behind ! 

All sights and sounds that please me most, 
With thee, hale Winter, ccme aodgo; 

Gray uplands, silvery with Jrosr, 
And clamurous with the crow, 

Still glens and purple summits cold, 
Aitd the bctld woods more pleasure bring. 

Than all tbe younger seasons hold, 
Whatever the poets sing. 

But now the winter days are spent, 
The winter winds are blown away ; 

I waste the hours in discontent, 
And aick<^u of the May. 

To Fee the rose indeed is good— 
To hear the swallows at the «avea ; 
37 



2IO MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

But more to me the wailing wood, 
And the smtll of sodden leaves! 

'T ie true I value at his rate, 

The man who warms in Spring's defense- 
The buxom hours that reinstate 

The sovereignty of seuse ; 

But I feast my soul on royal cheer, 
I laud tlio season, brave and fre*,^ 

When I the winter wind can hear. 
And blithely sings the hemluok tree I 

H. S C. 



MY OWL.. 

Or manners and tricks, as etratio 

As ever a bird's may be ; 
Is the brown owl I keep in my attic, 

As a quiet companion for me. 

He perches all day on a rafter, 

Staring down with his great round ey©'* ? 
And excites my inordinate laughter, 

He looks so important and wise 1 

I have watched him for whole hours together. 

This dignified judge of a bird- 
Fluttering never a feather— 
Nor uttering ever a word. 

But he sits there winking and blinking, 
Nor an inch from his post will he stir 

Until sunset ; most probably thinking 
Of the jolly old days that were,— 

Of the Naugatuck woods, and the thicket, 
Where tho little birds tasted so nice ; 

When the wor'd did n't seem half so wicked, 
And barns were o'errunning with mice. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 211 

But at night, lika the grimmest of sentries, 
At the time of the flitting of bats, 

He patrols through the garrets ?nd entries, 
And arrests all the bad Utile rats. 

It may seem to you lonely, but turely 

Our life is of comfort the type ; 
He munches bis mutton demurely, 

While I am enjoying my pipe. 

Of love I have witnessed the folly, 
And experienced the baseness ot man ; 

The secret of life is. ".Be jolly," 
Read Dickens, aud sleep when you can I 

So, I say, let the world with its trouble 
Diift on, for its cares we defy ; 

From our garret it seems but a bubble- 
To my little brown owl and I ! 

H. S. C. 



THE PHANTOM. 

Out in the dark old forest, 
There dwells a phantom of wo ; 
When the winds arise, I can hear his sighs 
As he wanders to and Jro! 

He smites the woods in bis frenzy, 
He strips the branches bare, 
And sows like chaff, with a demon laugh 
The blood red leaves on the airl 

He wrestles with woes Titanic, 
And dark deeds unforgiven ; 
And grieves alone, in a tongue unknown, 
Like a soul &hut out of Heaven. 

Above the'crash of the tempest . 
And the dismal roar of the rain, 



312 MISCELLArNEOUS POEMS. 

Whett the bire limbs creak, I can hear b» 
siiriek 
Of terror and of pain ! 

Lat«t night, from my chamber witidow, 
I saw in tbe niidot of t;be ewamp. 
Througb ibe murky i^loom, bw black piB« 
plume. 
And tbe gieam of bis epectral lamp I 

Oatriffbt bis bale'^ul omen — 
Ihri-e times the owlet cried ; 
-And on tbe he.rt»i tbe cnckti'a mirth 
Ju iiudden bileuce ditd. 

% 

In tbe midni^bt deud and eoiemn, 
He troubles my bpiiit meat ; 
For tbe sO'>l still beari^, tbougb mortal ears 
' Tbeir grosder uenese bave loat. 

Fr'^m trouble- batinted slumber 
1 start to iiear agb ist, 
la tbe d.irknea-! deep, tbe awful swef p 
Of bis pbautoin steed — the blast I 

But when, like a captive lady, 
Look3 tbe moon from bi-r cloudy tower. 
And tbe wnids are jit rest, he lovetb be^t 
Tbe influence of tUe hour. 

Ah, then ! tbe sli.idowy jriant, 
In mnunfan caverns deep, 
Finds space of rest for bis troubled breast, 
And grieves liimself to sle<p! 

Oh, say, do I live in Witchland ! 
Or is It tbe fever flame, 
Whence fesr is fed by a mirbid dread 
Of something without a name ? 

Fdr thM^ dwells in tbe forest some- 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 213 

I am puve, a phantom of wo ; 
When tbe win^a arise, I can hear Lis sighs, 
As h© wanders to and fro ! 

H. 8 c; 



RUTH GENEVIA DOWD. 

[January 12, 1S64.] 

On thy birthday's return, dear friend, I would 
offer, 
And on virtue's altar a tribute would lay ; 
The gift of a heart warm and true, 1 would 
proffer. 
And wisli, gentle maid. Peace to gladden 
thy way. 

Nor would I that vain and terrestrial pleas- 
ures 
Be those which thy graces and virtue may 
win, 
For these, when aspaved, are but dross weighed 
with treasures 
So dearly enshiiued the heart's casket 
within. 

The gift. I would bring thee is God's riebest 
ble-ssing — 
A prayer that thy mild pure spirit as now, 
May ever be «;entle and loving, possessing 
The Truth tbat is wiit on thy innocent 
brow. 

When in beauty'^ croud halls of fashion and 
8plend>r, 
Where the gay and thoughtless, the frivo- 
lous move. 
May tby womanly heart never idly surrender 
Ks Heflrvenly trust, devotion and love. 



314 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Perfumed be thy path e'er with fragrance of 
roses. 
Thy way be illamined with light from above, 
And the peace which now in thy bosom rs 
poses, 
Be an angel to guide thee to maneicns of 
love. 

When at last shall be ended thy life's holy 
miesion. 
And the Sent of the Father in glorj de- 
scends, 
May His angels conduct thee to blest scores 
Elysian, 
Where suds never set, and where bliss never 
ends. L. a. b. 



LOTUS. 

O, WRETCHED world. po by, 

Grown gray in sin an*! shame ! 
At rest in the arms of Peace 1 lie, 

Deaf to thy praise or blame. 

Day nnto trances sweet, 

And the night to dreams sublime ; 
To these I yield the moments fleet, 

The Conqueror of Time I 

I have found the lilies of L')ve 

1 bat bv indolent riveis n« d ; 
I hav? drunken the holy dews thereof, 

Quaffed, and bee jme as a god ! 

Against the tempest-blast 

My barque shall strive no more ; 

Though shattered and rent, she drives at last, 
To wreck on a Fairy Shore ! 

H s. c. 



MISCELLANEOUS PC EMS. 215 



BEFORE SUNRISE. 

Fbom her clnu<i chambers of the Ea-t, 
Night— beautiful somnambulifet, 
Moves o'er the world, and sprinkles wide, 
From fingers cooi, on evety side. 
Dew and deep sleep. Mooriau } and farm, 
And the brown hills are tranced in calm. 
And the dark or hard's heavy rows, 
Are steeped iu slumberous repose. 

I cannot sleep. I rise and seek 
The fragrant lane-*. Against my cheek 
The amorous airs their k'sse- blow ; 
Whi' e thrilli' g all the dells below, 
Wiihia tneir world of foliaue hid, 
The ceaseless, grass-green katy-did, 
And whip-pcor-wili witU accent strong, 
Rejoice in trisyllabic song. 

Like some weird melody that streams 

Down the dim cn'ridor of dr^^ams, 

In murmurs to the listening skie^, 

The sof gs of rivulets arise ; 

While further on, the shining river, 

Winds round the hill with waves that quiver, 

Like some great serpent's gUsfeuing scales, 

Drawn slowlv througb the reedy vales. 

To where, with ceaseless thundc- flails, 

The shore-aesail ng seas afar. 

Wage with it a perpetual war. 

The moo! light's poft snffueion laves 
The waving wood in golden waves, 
And tips the f i^taut village spire. 
Like an unchanging spark of fire, 
And from adjacent barns, I hear 
The sentinel horn of chanticleer 
Froclaming that the day is near. 



2t6 M.SC£LLAN£OUS POEMS. 

Beyond the garden's ivied walla 
A silver fountain liaps a; d falls, 
Or, lifted by the light wind, ahak'^s, 
Break-, and re-foraia. and breaks again, 
In showers of p -arls and diuiu jud raiu. 

So beautiful is all, it seems 

A picture Irom the world of dreams 1 

And yei for all, 1 know not wi.y, 

A sadness ^-eem8 to haunt the sky— - 

An iuflu<nv3e that the \veary soul, 

Endures, but yot cannot control ; 

Ad musing 1 mely a^ d apart, 

Tiie powers of sorrow touch my heart, 

The pale Past, rising from the d-^ad, 

Waves her weiid pin'ons o'er my bead ; 

Wild memories thit lung have liia 

In haunted « hampers of my brain . 

Start up ! Dead hopes and shapes in tears 

Glare on me from the buried yeart ! 

Park fanoi'^s ! fading as the day 
Floods the long East, with ro8\ gray, 
And o'er th" mountains, distant, dun, 
Abniptly the tiiaraphant sun 
Huils his lojiz javelins of light that break 
Against the silver target of tho lake ! 

H. S. C. 



THAT LITTLE HAND IN MINE. 

O ! DARLiNa with Uie soft blue eyes 

In which i love to «az(?,— 
For sliii iuij in their depths there lies 

A "light of other dayi*", — 
Gome, on my heart, tl^at 's gi'owing old, 

Let thy fair head recline, 
W^hile calm 1 sit and gently hold 

Thy little hand in mine. 



Look on thy father's aged face, 

Deep ecored with Hnes of care, — 
Mav never such haisli lineR deface 

Thy beatatv soft arid fair ;— 
'T was tl)«8 thy mother gazed on m©, 

In days of "Auld Lang 63 no", 
The while sbe sat upon my knse, 

Her little hand in mine. 



Since thit blest tim« how many years 

Have passed down "i^ifc'a duM streaoi" | 
Till, dimly seen tlirough falling tears, 

1 scirce can catch the gleam 
Tljat otit from memoties ot old 

In spite of tears will shine ; 
And thus I ei% and thonghlful hold 

Thy little hand in mine. 

Sometimes across our humble way 

Affliction sorrow flung ; 
But hopeiul still we passed each day» 
, And songs of love we sung. 
For love illumined every cloud, 

Love made the sun to shine, 
Love-rapt we journeyed through ih6 crowd, 

Her {rusting hand in mine. 

Ah ! £hen arose a darker cloud— 

That round my heart was thrown, 
It wrapped me close as in k shroud, 

And—I was all aloue. 
With Ottering steps I near the shore, 

Whience lieams of splendor shine. 
Aiid there I fcuow I 'll clawp ouce mord 

That little hand in mitie. 

JJPSSE ffOV^kRV LOUD. 
2S 



2l8 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



TILLY. 

Tilly was lovely, Tilly was far ; 

Dark as the night were the folds of her hafr ; 

Brilliant her brown eyes when sparkling with 
glee; 

Soft their love-lustre when gazing on me : 

lu the mesh of h t ringlets my heart-strings 
were wove, 

Her eyes pierced me through with their ar- 
rows of love. 



Tilly is channiug whenever she smiles : 
She captured my heart by Ler innocent wiles ; 
Her tears awoke sorrow full oft in my 

breast : 
Was it smiling or tearful I loved her the best ? 
Her smiles were deceittul, her tears insincere ; 
And the roses of love became withered and 

sere. 

Blithe was her song— it made my heart beat 
In tumultuous passion of extpcy sweet ; 
Gaily her laughter rang out on the air ; 
Was ever a woman so winning and fair ! 
Her song was the syren's ; it lured me away : 
Her laugb was a triumph that led me astray ( 

Tilly was fickle and false as the sea ; 

Her smiles hid the dangers that waited for me; 

Their glamours but lighted my way to the 

deep. 
And lulled all my senses in Lethean sleep : 
Ah, had I but wakened, my heart bad been 

whole ; 
But her memory now is a weight on my soul I 

JESSE HOW ABO LORD. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 2I9 



A SMOKE REVEEIE. 

I BIT and smoke and watch the spire 
Of cloudy incni*e from the fire 

Of my cigar arising, 
/ nd ask myself, in dreamy mood, 
It you, in your pure maidenhood, 

Would think it much surprising 
That I regard the words you spoke 
As unsubstantial as the smoke 

Wliich is not what it seemeth. 
The cloud first takes my fancy's air ; 
AnJ heaving breast and flowing hair, 

And hazel eye that beametb, 
Anpear in it" voluted swell 
That win^is about me as a spell ; 

Thus is my fancy captured. 

Put pre'^ently the spell is broke, 
The virions vanish with the smoke, 

My heart no more enraptured. 
And yet I hold your looks of love, 
The memory of your smiles, above 

A'l other recoUpction. 
Could 1 forget your words of pride, 
And mutterings of your stage "as.de". 

And rouse from my dejection ; 
The love that once within me burned. 
But now so cold, to ashes turned, 

Like my half-smoked Havana, 
Might glow again with passion's light, 
And wreaths ot incense through my night 

Flout ouiward like a banner. 

♦ |e * ♦ ♦ ♦ 

My tire's gone out ; my dream is o'er ; 
The smoke Irom my cigar no more 

I'loa's round rae as a vision. 
My love is spent ; my heart is cold ; 
My fancies are too weak nnd old 

To bring back dreams Elysian. 

JESSE HOWARD LOBt>. 



i^q MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 

Here, till the tran*^ient shower b^ overblawn, 
Let U3 drve inaurl let our horses ra-t, 

"Well wonh the while f a placQ o^ aome ife- 
nowi, 
Graad in dejay, yet spmbre, aad i|ol;rl9at.r 

See I what a lovely landscaiie it cammanda, 
Half hid leu iu a .^lanap of moaning pin^a ; 

Lot>kiu'4 abio id upon the barren landa, 
The wasted heritage of buried hues. 

There lives no certain record of the fate, 
The stra'ige disaster that befel its lord. 

Hurling hiai headlouu; from his high e-tate, 
Bemoraeleaa, leaving ueitaer heir nor ward. 

The eimple peia.mta herej»bont main'ain. 

The hou-e is haunted; that on certain nignts 
At twelve o'clock, in com'anj up th^' lane, 

The chan)Jier >yiud*JWo dauco with doubtful 
lighta. 

Here silence bTOod?-— the silence of the df>ad J 
The lizard peep-; from out tlie fi-sured walla 

As if to chide our loud lutrusive tread, 
That acaren the bata froioo^ tbeee deiicrled 
halla. ' ' - 

Neglf'Cted vinQ=!, the prey of ru«t and blight, 
swing snake- like from the fountain's broken 
rim ; 
While headless at hia post a marble knight 
Siill guards the postern, motiouleaa and 
grim. 

A'here once thp atepa of dancers, and the 
roar 
Of bacchanal revel frowned the midnight 



4«I«CELLANEOUS POEMS. 221 

An«1 hearts be-^t happily that beat no more. 
Gaunt Desolation weaves her sileut spell! 

The mullon lances pierce the rotten floors, 
To catch the sunshine glinting through the 
roof ; 

And swingini^ in the solifary doors, 
The heimit epider spins kis tilmy woof. 

How sadly sounds the hollow autu'nn breeze I 
Like some revt^ngefalKhost that cannot rest, 

But whi'<per-i up and dewn the balconies 
The dreadful burdtn of its anxious bieast ! 

Did a rash hand, by sudden wrath made bold, 
Slay the lite guest and bring the wasting 
do 'm ? 

Was it a mur 'er .'* It may not be told, 

Or tempted Irom its dark enfolding gluom. 

H w drea.r it looks ! Time and a curse havso 
done 
A fateful mission ; wherefore, none may 
know : 
But see ! the Hho«ei- is past.; t'.6 setting sua 
Sparkles upon the town to vhich we go. 
H S. C. 

I WOULD rivtber have Grant, though he's 
silent and still, 
Tharii an empiy declaimer of T»oi*ds ; 
I would rather have Grant, with his good, 
honest will, 
Than one from political hordes. 

His deeds are inscribed on the page of the 
wor^d, 
The Nations ran read them afav ; 
And he blaz »ns to-day like a banner un- 
furled, 
The light of our Naticmal Star ! 
[868.] I, a, B. 



MISCELI ANEOUS POEMS. 



EVENING. 

Whfn tbft lorp. brght hours, are numberei, 

And the daylight beauty dies ; 
When the stars their nightly watch-fires 

Kindle in the nightly skies — 
What, is tb.it, which gently stealing, 

Dream-like o'er the musing mind, 
Calm-, each wayward ihous:ht and feeling, 

With a magio uudeQned ? 



Hark ! the dash of distant waters, 

Murm'ring m their ceaseless play, 
Comes upon the breatli of evening, 

Blending with the ni-^ t-bnd p lay. 
Whence the power that strangely sways us, 

As we li-t tliai mystic tune, 
Bringing back sweet, faded mem'riea 

With the glances of the moon ! 



Now tlie evening star arises, 

Brightly o'er the wooded hill. 
Gilding Tyith her mellow radiance, 

F.eld and f irest, fount and rid. 
Know'ht thou whenc > this strong emotion, 

Stiiring e'en the fount of te.irs — 
Why the glance, s > qu ck and searching, 

Backward flies to childhood's years ? 



Is it meniories of the wild-wood, 

Where in early life we strayed ? — 
Or the moonlit haunts of childhood, 

Where we innocently pliyed ? 
Is it name of friend or brother, 

Hoard'^d long in memory's cell, 
Or the mild glance of our mother, 

That awakes the mystic spell ? 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 223 

Deep within that spell is centered— 

Yet wh:it tougue cau speak ihe whole ?~ 
Who reveal the hi'tdea power 

Of the strange, mysterious soul I 
Ever unexplained, yt t present 

With oar spirit, dwells the power. 
Potent thus to move or sway U3, 

In the pensive evening hour. 

L. G. R. 



AN AUTUMN FLOWER. 
(Fkom the French.) 

E'oLiTARY, dvirg flower. 

Once tho f lirest of the dale, 
Comerh now the fro>ty hour. 

That gives thy petals to the gale. 

So like thee must man dociy, 
When the winds of death shall blow 

As thy leaflets drop away, 
One by one our pleasures go. 

Time steals from us, day by day, 
Joys that gladdest, dearest seem ; 

Every hour that flies away, 
Robs us of some darling dream. 

Rosy visions, hopes most dear, 
Youth's illusions fnd and fair, 

Fade and fail and disappear. 
Like thy fragrance, turned to air I 

Until man by trouble tossed, 
Waiting death's autumnal hour. 

Sadly asks in reverie lost, 
Which is frailest, life or flower ? 

H. s. o 



i>4 MlSCELLANEOirs l>OEMi. 



AUTUMN LEAVES. 

There comes a season when the forest leaves, 
Ravaged by fatal frost, tlush bectic-red, 
And tlion decay. So man, as life grows dl n — 
The heyday fast— anl frosts of a^e den ehd 
On his «ere locks, eeei all his youthful hopes 
Grow leas and less. Bright fancies of the 

past 
Illusions seem, but even as they fade, 
Seem but more splendid that we have them 

not ; 
Until at last, but ashes, ashe^ all ! 
That life tan nflfer; and w6 grope and pUA 
Among the c 'Id, dead cinlftrs of the pa6t, 
For on • last spark to re-illumc the flani^ 
01 hope upon the altar of the hein ; 
Not finding it, we 8hiv( r toward tlio grave, 
Sleep sound on that last bolster stutt'd \viih 

husks, 
Forgottea by the world whieh we f irget ! 



Perhap=; some day, in years that ax-e to be, 
Some antiquarian searcher of old tomhe, 
Shall scraps away the venerable moss- 
Read halt tl.e tab'et'a n cord— guess the rest- 
And think '' my grand-sire knew him when a 

boy", 
And speak of us as of a vanished thing — 
Or nothing, of th*.* antique past, loss worth 
Than the transorip'ion of a mildewed >l;iB. 
Well, \fel\ ! we wither like the autu du leaf ; 
And like -ete foliage on the whirlwind borne, 
Rofore the ine-dstible breath of Tihi* 
Vaniwh to nothingness, and are seen no more ! 

H s c. 



MlSCELtAaTBOUS POEMS 225 



TBE NIGHT-WATCH. 

'The night is stormy end dark^ 

And the gale is pipiug fiee ; 
TLe bodiag moon weut out too Boon, 

Over tJae muiky lee ; 
The mad sea moans, the tempest groans, 

And I rise from a haunted sleep, 
WitB the wild aurest of a soul dietrest, 

F-or my dailing is on the deep ! 

My lamp went out by itself, 

Ere the midnight bell had beat ; 
The spaaiel whined to the moaning wind, 

And crouched in feat at my feet ; 
And as the blast flew shrieking past, 

A voice seemed borne to me — 
I thought it was my Willie dear, 

A-sinking in the sea ! 

For the maiden moon she died too soon, 

From out the lurid lee^ 
She hid her face in fl. veil of cloud, 

From Bometlung she would not see I 
Red-ringed and ashen-pale she was, 

Like the spectral Lapland sUn — 
She troubled my dreams with her fateful 
beams, 

And I would that the night were dene ! 

For all on a swift and ansry flood, 

I saw a fearful sight— 
The wave- washed deck of a staggering wreckt 

That drave athwart the night ! 
And red from its scabbard of cloud, 

The rapier-lightning leapt, 
The masts they cracked, and a cataract 

Of waves o'er the vessel swept I 
29 



as MISCELLANEOUS POEBtfr. 

Oh, wild were the cries the maniac Wind* 

Bore far o'er the miduight main, 
For black with wrath on his ocean-path,. 

Death rode the hurricane ! 
iind my soul recoiled agha^■t, 

Till the vision passed away ; 
And all in tears from a couch of fears, 

I woke to weep and pray ! 

O, for the sound of step I know, 

And a voice that is dear to me ! 
But 't is only the wind in the rattling blind, 

Or an owl in the blasted tree ! 
Oh, God I is it never to ceaee — 

The horror that mocks my grief— 
The shuddering crash of the breakers thkt 
dash 

Over the roaring reef ? 

Wearily clangB the clock that CDunts 

The sad, slow steps of night, 
And weary the last, long hour that brings 

A glimmer of mournful light ; 
Till wrapt in a ragged shroud of fog. 

The light-house looms like a ghost; 
And bald and gray, the early day 

Breaks on the dismal coast. 

Cometh the dawn with a dull, dead gleam, 

For the crest of the blue cold wave. 
And a cry of delight for the little beach bird. 

But nothing for Hope but a grave 1 
For there is that, nor penitent waves, 

Nor weeping mists can hide — 
The nameless thing that drifts and dips 

With the swing of the heaving tide! 

U. S. G. 



5«ISCEl.LAKEOU« PuS15|S. 337 



AS THE CLOUDS. 

38i« TSB clouds Uaat float at «ven, 

Mourn too soon their glory flown, 
^o the heart with piadness teeming, 

^oon, shall wither, e^ad and lone ; 
And, as fleeting clouds at night-time, 

Hide perchance the moon's pale beam, 
So our souls are oftimes troubled 

By life's swiftly-rusbing stream. 

As the frost seen ia the morning, 

Melts before the sun's first ray, 
So the pleasures earth doth render, 

Take them wings and fly away ; 
And, as 110}) streams of water, 

Help to swell the mighty sea, 
So each day that pasbes o'er us, 

Nearer brings Eternity. 

It is well that we should linger 

On the memoiies of the Past, 
Wreathing garlands o'er the green graves 

Of the joys that cannot last : 
Though the flowers too soon may perish, 

And their place seem sad and lone, 
Yet their sweet perfume will hover 

Bound the scenes of beauty gone. 

Far beyond the glowing cloud-land, 

Far beyond the azure sky, 
There are joys for souls immottal— 

Bliss too deep, too pure to die ! 
When for us Life's voyage is over — 

Crossed have we the crested foam- 
May our shallop reach the haven 

Of the bleat— Eternal Home ! 

L. G. R. 



^iS MISCELLANEOUS POEJRfSv 



FERN FROM NIAGARA. 

Strakge is the influence that clings 
To treasured tokens of the past, 

And gives to most familiar things 

Enchantments that shall bind us fast. 

A splinter, any trifle small 

From Shakespeabe's house, has more to- 
day 
Gf (leep su<;ge3tivenes8 than all 

His best biographers can say. 

With what devout idolatry, 
What holy love, what tender care, 

The mourning mother guards for aye 
A tress of her dead darling's hair 1 

A maiden takes her jewel box 

To while an idle hour away, 
Or chose a bauble for her locks. 

Humming the while some carol gay f 

A ring, or faded violet— 

Some lover's gift in t atlier years — 
Touches the spring of love's regret, 

And softens all her soul to tears ! 

And thu-, as on this simple leaf, 
This rainy night, I muse and pour, 

I hear the thunder of the ohief 
Of all the cataracts that roar! 

I see the sheeted splendors glance, 
Bathed in the warm, prismatic I'ght, 

And foam-bows that dissolve or dance, 
Elf-BjLONDixs, up and down the hight ! 

What man may holier baptism boast, 
Though clothed in all the pomp of earth, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 329 

Tban that affusion most augu-t. 
That solemnized tiiia nurj^Hng's birth; 

Which, dinging to the fostering side 
Of that great wall, rejoiced and grew, 

And ti'embled at the tumbling tide, 
Drenched m its glories aud its dew ! 

For this I bold the trifle dear, 

For this I ponder on it long, 
Atid guard it safely, year by year, 

And weave its tendrils in my song. 

H s c. 



JOURNEYING UNTO THE EEALM OF 
REST. 

Long years ago I set out on a road 
That tirst seemed fair and beauteous to 
my eyes ; 
From every eloping bight whereon I stood. 
Were flowery plains and sunny, smiling 
skies. 

But childhood passed, the rosy colors fade ; 
All white and dusty trails the parched 
highway ; 
Through lands devoid of brook or fresh- 
ening shade, 
I wander, sad and foot-sore, through the 
day. 

I 'm traveling toward a city fair to see ; 
Whose portals lie beyond the golden West— 
Unro whoee walls— my journey's end to be— 
I plod, a restless longing in my breast : — 
The years, as landmarks, tell me as they 
flow 
How near I am unto the Realm of Rest. 
L. G. R. 



a^O MISCELLANEOUS POEM*. 



EULALIE. 

Blue birds linger here awhile, 
O'er this ea red gra-sy pile ; 
Sing your sweetest songs to me, 
' 1 is the grave of Eulahe. 

Streamlet, chanting at her feet, 
Mourn'ul mubic sad and sweet, 
Wake her not ! she dreams of me — 
'Neath the yew-tree, Eulalie I 

Eoses white around her tomb, 
Gently wave and sweetly bloom ! 
Let your silent language be — 
We will bloom for Eulalie ! " 

EuLALTE, but yesternight. 
Came a spirit, veiled in white, 
I knew it could be none but thee, 
Bride of Death, lost Eulalie ! 

Kiss me, Eulalie ! once more, 
Ere thou ssek'st the starry shore ; 
Say thou know'st I sigh for thee, 
Where thou li^st, Lulalie ! 

Angels guard her with your wings I 
Shield her from unholy things ! 
Bid her dream love-dreams of me, 
'Keath the yew-tiee, Eulalie ! h 



THERE CAME A WIND. 

There came a wind from off the sea, 
Blowing so blitne and cheerily ; 
It kise'd my true love's cheek so fair ; 
It tosa'd her curls of raven hair. 



MISCELLANEOUS PCEMft. ^jl 

The morn is ca'm : the sky is bright ; 
Bat after sunshine comes the night ! 
O ! summer wind, from off the sea, 
Blowing so blithe and cheerily. 

There came a wind from o'er the main ; 
'T was freighted down with bitter pain ; 
A grave it fill'd 'neath the cypress tree, 
Whea winter winds moaned drearily. 

The night has come ;— the day has sped j 
The summer winds have swiftly fled ! 
U ! cruel winds, from o'er the main. 
That bring'st not back my love again ! 

L. G. R. 



WINTER MIDNIGHt. 

[MINNESOTA, 1873.] 

The new moou floats like a silver canod. 

In the clear Dakotah sky ; 
And the large stars look from the boundless 
blue, 

With a my-tic brilliancy ! 

Over the prairie tor leagues is spread 

December's immaculate snow ; 
Like a white shroud smoothed above the dead. 

For the earth U dead below ! 

And the crimson auroras flicker and gleam, 
ijike demoniac banners unfurled 

In the Hell of a frenzied poet's dream — 
Or the flames of a burning world ! 

From the freezing lakfs I ran hear the sound 
Of the ice as it cracks and roars ; 

And the distant bay ot the famished hound. 
Afar on the desolate moors. 



1 



233 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

But in vain for mc the red North shakes 

His batile-banners on high ; 
C r like golden bridiies, o'er stieams and lakes, 

The shafts ot the moonlight lie ! 



There is beauty helow, there is splendor above. 

But ah, thev are nothing to me ! 
For my heart is afar with the friends I love, 

By the .-here of the Eastern sea ! 

H. S. C. 



EVER PRESENT. 

Through the sunny hours of childhood, 

At life's ever-restless tide. 
Well I know an unseen svnrit 

Lingered ever at my side ; 
In the radiant dreams of boyhood, 

Draped in fancy's biilli;int hue, 
Still 1 own the witi hing preience, 

Stealing all my vicious through. 

Undefined, the soothins: influence 

Still attends me, night and day, 
Guarding with angel'C fondness. 

Watching lest I go astray : 
And, wlien twilight draws the curtains 

Gently o'er the weary earth ; 
When the y 'un<i flowers droop in slumber, 

And the timid stars have birth ; — 

Then the myst c spell grows stronger, 

And a hand enfolds my own; 
When 1 bear the winning cadence 

Of a deep and loving tone, 
All my V sinns, fan y freighted, 

Fade before th-* glorious Real ; 
Earth has grown indeed iin Ed« n — 

I have found my Bright Ideal ! l a. 



*nSCELI.AKB:OUS SHJEMS 23^ 



IC'cVBl ABY^Nt O^ THE MOSQUITO. 

A<GA5N the gaunt mopquito comeB, 

Assass'n of tiie night ! 
With al his starving faui%, 

To put my dreams to flight, 
And try and settle His small bill, 

And take a draft at sight. 

I h«ar t^ain the dreadful eoand, 

That tells me who is near ; 
I hear bim wind his horrid horn, 

And whet his poisoned sp«ar ; 
He sounds the battle-blaei, and ah I 

I feel that he is here* 

In rain the rank cigar I smoke, 
Quite wild and desperate grown, 

In vain I try to drive him out, 
And shut the window down. 

For still I hear tbose tranquil pipes, 
MoDOtOQOUsly drone ! 

In vain with patent canopies 

My restless couch I spread. 
No sooner do I close my eyes, 

And settle well my head. 
I feel a sort of faiotness, like 

A patient being bled ! 

Like CooE among the Cannibals, 

'T is useless to appeal, 
Or like a mummy wind myself 

In sheets from head to heel : 
The hungry wretch has picked me out. 

To maiie himself a meal. 

His sucker, like a burglar's drill, 
Would i^ierce an iron door ; 
30 



2J4 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

He loves, as Alexander did, 

To wade in human gore, 
And like the Hoosac Tunnel, he '» 

An everlasting bore ! 

You only put your finger down, 
. To find he is n't there ; 
For now he 's nibbling at your noa©, 

Or dancing in the air, 
Or doing something in your ear, 

Before you are aware. 

A child is he of Jersey swamps, 
Where 'mid the fens and fosses, 

He cultivates his dapper wings, 
And nurtures his proboscis, 

And promenades on »lender stilts. 
Among the humid mosses. 

But yet his faults may not suffice 

All merit to efface. 
For hinner never yet was born, 

Without some Bpurk of grace : 
And he is a philanthropist— 

He loves the Human Kace ! 

I 've rubbed the room with camphor gum, 

To modify the air ; 
But still I hear hia hateful hum, 

About me everywhere. 
And were I not a Methodist, 

I d undertake to swear ! 

Oh ! bear me to some frozen clime, 

Where polar tempests blow ! 
On train-oil I could eraze uamoved, 

Or Greenland's cliffs ot snow, 
And be content to puss my days, 

Among the Esquimaux! h. s. c. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 235 



FOLD THE PATIENT HANDS. 

Weabily fold those patient hands, 

ISO ready to do and bless ; 
Their work is done— the morning's sun 

Ends pain and weariness I 
Softly walk to the River's edge, 

Beyond these mortal tears ; 
A spirit-guide from the heavenly shore, 

At her side now appears ! 

Though sleeping, she hath left her heart 

Behind in truest songs ; 
Her gentle life was but a part 

Of what to heaven belongs ; 
Her heart attuned, its epirit-chorda 

Responsive strike our own ; 
Her Christly deeds, her saintly words. 

Are to the angels known ! 

From out thy glorious dawning, 

O bright, glad April day ! 
Stream grateful rays from Gates of Light, 

Wide open night and day 1 
The room is still, the world grows dark, 

While sinks our earthly sun ; 
With weary step, wo slowly climb 

The path to the Shining One ! 

The race not sure is to the swift, 

Nor the battle to the strong ; 
Nor the Crown of Life won without strife 

And pain and travail long : 
How far it may be to the goal, 

Is ne'er to us revealed ; 
But earnest deed is all of life. 

On earth's grand tented field ! 

Life's sweetest, loveliest mystery, 
When blend pure spirits here, 



5^6 MISCELLANEOUS P0E1W5. 

Bapt in the guise of fantasy, 

And fairy garb appear ; 
Then Meiifry, gazing on the Past, 

In anguish droops her head. 
And viewing things too pure to last, 

Weepe for the holy dead I u o. 



LET US PBAY. 

Kic«T is gone I Morn's bugle-notes 

Hare welcomed iu tke day ; 
On our ear is gently stealing 
WarbliDgs of the matia lay : 
From our couoh let us rise. 
Lift our voice to the skies, 
And humbly kneeling, 
With grateful feeling, 
Let us pray. 

It is noon ! All glorious now 

Comes the mid day : 
Everywhere glad birds are pouring, 
In the greenwood carols gay : 
In our clostt retreat 
Let us kneel at Uis feet, 
And say— Thy blensed will be done, 
Thou the mighty Three-iu-One ! — 
Thus we pray. 

'T is eve ! Night's purple mantle now 

Curtains the dying day ; 
Once more the birds are send ng 
Evetiing songs at twilight gray : 
Draw rou'id the board 
Of our risen Lord; 
Then, in s^oed ~o ig, 
His pr 'iwe prolong — 

Let us pray. i,, o. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 237 

THE BACHELOR. 

[after ALDldcH.J 

When winds blow cold, 

O'er the desolate wold, 
And the spendthrift maple squanders its gold; 
And over the meadow so sober and seared, 
October comes up with a frost on his beard, 
Then a curious fancy comes into my head, 
And I say to myself, "It were better to wed; 
For tbe summer of life will be speedily past, 
But the love of a woman abides to the last." 
For a ghost of tbe future perplexes my mind, 
And I shudder to hear the winter wind. 

And a Bachelor's life is folly, I wot, 
And I am aweary to mairy ! 

But when pastures are new, 
And the heavens are true, 
And the violet opens her wimple of blue, 
And the sunshine is warm in the long forest 

aisles, 
And the peach-orchards sweeten the highway 

for miles,— 
Then a different fancy possesses my head. 
And I smile that i tver should think I could 

wed! 
For thoughts of the future to future I cast, 
As I lounge in the daisies and dream of the 

pa^t, 
For the spring-time returneth so constant and 

knd. 
But maids are fickle as summer wind, 

And a Bachelor's life is jolty. I wot. 
And I am too merry to ma ry ! 

H. s. C. 



338 M.SCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



♦'AlfD THEY FEARED AS THEY ^ENTER- 
ED THE CLOUD." 

And shall I fear ? Have I not learned, 
From childhood's years, His tend'rest care ? 

Where'er my wand'ring footstsps turned 
Have I not felt His presence there ? 

My Father ! Yes, for He is mine ! 

i know His promises are true ; 
Through deepest gloom His glories shine ; 

Their bright rays pierce the darkness through. 

I would not ask, if but my will v,^,^^ 

Could gild Ute over with delight — ^*^ 

Make time a river calm and still- 
Light every day with sunshine bright. 

Proud night adds beauty to the morn ; 

By contrast seems the sky more bright ; 
Wild grandeur rides upon tiie storm, 

And glory shouts from ocean's might ! 

E'en in this night, so strangely dread, 
And fearful with a vflgue portent, 

His brooding care o'er a'l is spread, 
And terror 's lost in wouderment ! 

Bright Faith ! submissive, firm, shall stand 

And see His majesty diwplay'd ; 
He holds the tempest in His hand, 

And says, *• 'Tis I, be not afraid ! " 

Thu>< patience learns from out the ski«s, 

I hat half the m'racle of giace 
Lies hidden in the strange dieguise 

Of trusting where we cannot trace ! 

L. G. R. 



< 



MISCELLANEOUS PCEMS. 339 



LAY HER TO REST. 

Tenderly, lovingly, lay her to rest, 

Where the eunbeaina gleam from the rose- 

huf d west ; 
Plant the soft moss-flowers over her breast. 

Idly her harp on the willow is hung ; 

-Ah I never again i-hall the chords be strung, 

Or its musical notes o'er the world be flung. 

Lay h(r to rest where the forest-trees moan ; 
Lovingly, softly her spirit has flown, 
On radiant wings, to the Holy Throne I 

Lay her to rest where the chime from the 

bells 
Will float, as its cadence rises and swells 
Prom ave3 and psalms, through the wooded 

dells. 

Leave her in peace with the Father— God ! 
He knows the way that His dear child trod— 
Plant the soft moss-flowera over the sod ! 

L. G. R. 



UNREST. 

Fbom a vision of fright, 
I woke in the night. 
And lay and listened long ; 
But I only heard the crowing cock, 
And the hollow stroke of the midnight clock, 
And the sleepers breathing strong. 

Whether it was the witching time. 

Or something ref^ently read 
Of a horrible novelty < f crime. 

And the number of men found dead,— 



^4^ MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

I shuddered, I shook at the noise of a mouse, 
An 3 could not close my weary eyes, 
But I seemed to hear the muffled cries 
Of murder, in the house ! 

I drew the casement curtain aside, 
And gaz< d on the miduight heaven— 

On the myriad systems sprinkled wide, 
Aud the sisterly Pleiades seven — 

Luminous over the beautiful sea, 
Looking like souls that were just forgiven, 

And smilingly chiding me ! 

" Ah, fool I ah. weak of faith," I said, 
** The angels are watching thee overhead; 

And however men pass the day or night. 

By the Merciful One all is ordered aright ! " 

H. s. C. 



UNREQUITED LOVE. 

For once a rare and tender plant 

Did in my garden grow. 
And though I nurst its every want, 

Still it would never blow. 

It was not that it pined for care, 

Or long'd to be carest ; 
Nor toil nor labor did I spare— 

Of love gave I the best. 

But 6 till it faded, day by day. 
Like snow-wreitth in the sim; 

As by the fire ic« melts away, 
Soon its I rail life was gone ! 

The plant was fairest womanhood; 

The ^'arden was my heart ; 
My soul with sweetest eloquence wooed- 

But vain its evry art ! 



iai«C3XLANE0US POEMS. 24E 

•So grope I thro' life's bright parterre, 
Nor Tamd each beauteous flower, 

Since she anto my soul so dear, 
Will euter uot Love's bower. 

L. a. fe. 



TSE I'ISH-M ABKET, 

'I^ais is ihe Fiih Market : and all about me, 

I see uncooked, the dishes I endorse ; 
tsending an eager appetite throughout me, 
With thoughts of " Yorkshire sauce! '^ 

And here 's a halibut— a hundred pounder ! 
With edibie fins— a fact considered odd ; 
With mottled mackerel, and dejected flounder. 
And melancholy cod> 

Oh, what an epicurean, queer eeasation, 
Invades my nerves, and o'er my palate 
steals ; 
A longing for a savory, salt sea-ration, 
When I contemplate eels ! 

And oysters, too! How could these gentle 
verses 
Descant at length on such dehghtful themes! 
But yet — alas for impecunious purses, 
I eat them but in dreams ! 

Again, in dreams, I see the dextrous waiter, 
Unhinge those bivalves— interesting sight ! 
While I engulf them, like some yawniag era* 
ter. 
With growing appetite ! 

Adjacert, also, the congenial cruet's 
Pungent persuasion makes me yearn for 
more ; 

31 



242 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

But M-hen, qwite gorged, I aak him what i» 
due, it '8 
A most astounding score ! 

However, if I ^rovv but one da}' older, 

I '11 superintend the cooking: of each dish ; 
And spread a board to startle the beholder, 
And Qll myself wii^h fish I 

I "11 have a blue-fish, stuffed with sage and 
cracker. 
Long Island clams, stewed, fried, and in a 
pie ; 
The Muse must have good provender to back 
her, - 
And so, in fact, must 1 1 

I U have .'^^ea-ba^s-, and lobster in th« shell. 
The only mode to save the ocean flavor— 
And salmon, which I like extremely well. 
And cod-steaks, which I "avor. 

Turtle I '11 have— not mock, that's a delusion! 

But genuine Dry Tortugas— iron-clad ; 
Muscles, and shrimps, in opulent profusion.— 
Some scollops won't go bad ! 

1 'li have gilt 'Bills of Fare" on sa'in ribbon, 
Note how each dish is caugbt, by net or 
hook ; 
And be a roy;il Roman— after Gibbon, 
And deify the cook ! 

1 'II have a taste of most that lives in water 

From Madagascar to the Straits of Behring ; 
But I must pause for lunch ; my darling 
daughter, 
Go buy me a red-herring I 

H. s c. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 243 



D I D A C T I O S. 

The world is full of sin and crime, 
And that which tempts weak hearts astray ; 

But Christly seed, sown in good time. 
Is never wholly cast away! 

Let not within thy manly breast, 
Lurk aught of guile, or sordid care ; 

If hatred be thy bosom's guest. 
Oh, cast it out forerer there ! 

Abstain from gieed, shun earthly lust ; 

Jo ba?er natures these belong ; 
** 'Tis better to wear out, than rust 

In idle sloth,'' be e'er thy song. 

Put tho vain woiid beneath thy feet ; 
The desert yet may bud and flower, 

And Sorrow's bitter change to sweet- 
While Hope exerts her gracious power. 

Dash from thy lips the blood-red wine- 
Its draft is death unto the soul ; 

He who would sup at Bacchus' shrine, 
Finds serpents' fangs within the bowl I 

Dejected Care, grim Discontent. 

(J, bid these hasten to depart 
With memory of years misspent, 

Despair torments the guilty heart. 

8weet is the bread that 's earned by toil; 

No dearer bliss can manhood find. 
Than his content who tills the soil, 

And walks his way with tranquil mind. 

Each blossom bright the Spring-time briiDgs, 
Some goodly lesson may command ; 



244' M1SCBLLAHE0U9 POEMS^ 

Wlule every murmuriog rivulet 8iQg» 
Soft melody of spirit-lands ! 

■Jon fotmtalD trills on Nature's Itttes f 
Ewbies bedeck the dewy flowers ; 

And breezes soft, like magic flutes, 
Wake melody among tlie bowers. 

The stm of mortal life is this — 
A fe?? br^ht joys we feel to-day, 

A few short hours of love and bliss— 
And then we pas© from earth away I 

For evermore msatiate Death, 
Remorseless seeks his constant prey } 

Man passes like an idle breatli, 
Or like the fleeting clouds of May. 

A bright crown waits thee, if but true ; 

Take up thy ctoss— and follow on ! — 
So shalt th u pearly Gates pass through — 

So Shalt thou rest, thy labor done '. 

let sha;t thou Triumph not, O (irave ! 

We soar aloft to grander things ! 
Though o'er our dust the cypress wave, 

Tb© soul to higher rapture springs. 

L. 6. tU 



EPIGRAM. 

My hkart ! 1 bid thee answer : 
How are Love's marvels wrought? 
" Two hearts in union beiting . 
Two spirits to one thought." 

And tell me how Love cometh : 
*' It comes unsought, unsent ! " 
And tell me how Love goeth ! 
•' That was not Lo' e that went I '' 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 245 



TO A CRAB. 

O CKAB exuviouB ! ^hat of thee can man 
Excogitate, or find in Fancy's fields 
Aught to the muse acceptable? — for now 
The dog-8tar rages, and at ninety-two 
The mercury hangs, with not a drop of ram. 
For nine or ten nn watered, weltering weeks I 
In such a stress, if any muse can siug, 
Of all the nine, I give it up, and take 
My cool siesta, where the lorenoon breeze 
Creeps languidly along the Pequot beach. 

But still thou comest, punctual to the time, 
Cancer or crab — mine annual of the sea, 
True to thy symbol in the Zodiac 1 

Amid the arid wastes of Africa, 
Or in the Libyan desert's dewless sands 
Ihe scorpion and the adder thrive in duet. 
But thy more aqieous appetite requires 
Sea- water, although shaliov/. When the time 
Comes when the lean mosquito, seeking blood, 
Marauds o'er midnight slumberers, and takes 
From dreams divine the culminating charm, 
Aad when without the '' r," as coodwivas tell, 
The festive oyster flavorless abides, 
In uumolested and forbidden beds, 
And summer cholics cheer the hopeful quack. 
Men look for tlieo. Dilapidated nets 
Of List yeai''e manufacture take anew 
Indubious meshes, calculated well 
To set at naught thy cla-hing mandibles. 
And hold thee struggling and belligerent 

Then, when I hear the Bink street Gabriel 
Solicitous, wind loud his sheet iron horn, 
Proclaimins: to the lovers of good teed. 
That ciabs have come, I can endorse his notes 
And honor them, a' though on • 'Groton Bunk." 



246 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Som'^ with a trident rude, or cruel prong. 
Impa e thj" adamantiue coat of mail. 
Aud thus impair the ^port. like shooting trout. 
Tlie proper thing is to procure a net, 
(And borrowed ones are oftentimes the best!) 
And lift thee gentlv from the lucent tide. 
With all thy armor still inviolate ! 

The truant school-boy, wading in the cove. 
When the salt tide is out, with cunning hand 
Secures thee without danger. Greater he 
Than all the Persian Shah can arrogate, — 
That rnoslem potentate whose jewels rare 
Outrival all the coi^t and brilliancy 
Of Koh-i-noor, never caught a crub I 

How ahject and how miserable he 
Who lives in rur;il sections far removed 
From ocean's brim, where sheli-fish never 

come, 
Save when in keg or emitter entombed, 
Exanimate and vapid. How unlike 
That gustatory and delicious dish, 
Exhaling all the flavor of the wave, 
Thai nerves lor picnic luncheons by the sea ! 

Most awkward of ungainly things that swim! 
First consin to that nionstious and disformed 
Voracious, horrid Hydra, that men call 
The Lobster! when thy shell is young ani s)ft 
I love thee well ! but when of later growth, 
Though doomed to go to pot. where Moll, 

the cook. 
Like Hecate, by the bubbling catildron stands, 
And holding down the pot 1 d with a spoon, 
With fell intent, remorseless as a Fate, 
Abbreviates thy exustence-theu I own 
Thy case, O crab I must be considered hard ! 

H. s C. 



MISCELL.\NEOUS POEMS. 247 



THE BRIDE. 

From the altar gently lead her. 

All thy future care to know ; 
Lot her feel thy arm shall shelter. 

When earth's stormy winds sbaU blow. 

Holy vows have jnst been spoken,— 
Vows so soft they f^carce were heard ^ ~ 

Never let love's charm be broken, 
By a frown, or angry word. 

Kiss the bride sd levely, lightly 
On her blushing cheek and biow ; 

Hope's fond star is shedding brightly 
O'er life's path, a silver glow ! 

Let thy arm go gently wreathing. 
Like a garland roitnd her zone ; 

I'o thy heart she 's gently breathing 
Of an Eden in your home ! 

Blf 88 her, wife ! who stands united 
Ty her virgin -heart's first choice I 

Let her laboi's e'er be liahted 
By thv cheering, hopeful voice ! 

L. G. R. 



WE WILL NOT PARTED BE. 

Wr can not keep our manhood's prime 
Nor wrinkles from our brow ; 

We can not stay the wheels of Time, 
Nor bind us fast to Now ! 

We can nnt bid our failing eyes 
Look bright, as in our youth : 

We can not keep clouds from the skies. 
Nor touch men's lips with truth ! 



248 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

We can not purge earth of deceit, 
Nor foul Distrust dethrone ; 

We can not trust men whom we meet, 
Unless to Honor known. 



Yet we may say, however hard 

The worldly trial be — 
Pure Truth is mine, and high Regard, 

And naught shall part us three ! 

L. G. R. 



ulVINE PROTECTION. 

Upwaki). Onward ! be thy motto, 
Though life's path be dark and drear ; 

Faint not on the way, nor lalter — 
E'er be firm — and' never fear ! 

Put thy tru^t in God— He 'U keep thee ; 

From all danger Hk will shield thee ! 

Upward, Onward ! though ch uds gather, 
Thick and durk, obscure thy way ; 

Banish thought of fear and sadness, 
Kor the gloom will pass away : 

He who notes the sparrow's fall. 

Duth care for and watch over all ! 

Upward. Onward ! where Duty bids thee ! 

Shrihk not from its sternest call ; 
Say not that' the t^ky looks dreary. 

Nor that rain-irops thickly fall . 
For though thou sow to-day in sorrow. 
Thou Shalt reap in joy to-morrow ! 

L. G. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 249 



JUNE. 

Ah ! who is sh© that comes along the lawn, 
Attended by the music of the dawn ? 
What goddess this, with bramble rosea 
crowned, 
Whilo till around, 
A thousand airy warbiings fill the bowers 
With noise of jubilee ? 
What Vision on the mountains blue, 
Her ankles dashed with morning dew, 
Brushed from the half-awakened flowers, 
And her streaming ringlets brown, 
About her naked shoulders blown, 
By the sea wind wantonly ? 

Ah, June ! 
Capricious man may peevishly impugn" 
The raw rough March, or April's doubtful 
days, 
Or even May, which in our northern clime, 
Is merry only in some poet's rhyme, 
But thou dost touch him with desire of 
praise ! 

For now the fragrant leas 
Buzz with ind'istriousbees, 
Blown up and down in odorous gales, 

Loaden witti honey-dew ; 

And April lambe improve in pastures new ; 
And from the festal vales, 

In roMiping bands the village children come, 

With 8i!u-burnt faces, aprons full of bloom, 
And bonnets trimmed wUh bud and vine. 
Singing such f r >lic ditties that the kine. 
Sunning tht-ir brindled mdes in cowslip beds, 
Rise lazily and tu;u their heads. 
With the soul of brute surprise 
Looking out of their large eyes ! 
32 



250 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Imperial, passionate June ! 

Thou comest not too soon, 
But waite>t, beautiful and calm, 

Until the gusts that rent the skies of May, 
Sink into gales of balm. 
And like departing music fade away ! 

Then, like a conquering queen, 

Self-centered and serene, 
Fair as a maiden in her bridal flowers, 
Thou movest through the woodland bowers. 
Smiling sunshine, singing consolation, 
Awaking a response of exultation ! 

With what a well-contented note 
The pigeon coou about his cote ! 
What flamy flushes streak thy golden morns I 
What suimy comtort warms thy mellow 
noon! 
What pearly lustre gilds the shining horns, 
Of thy resplendent moon — 
Dear June ! delightful June ! 

H. s c 



THE WBBATH. 

Ye^, fling aside the drooping flowers ! 

Let th*ra b^ scattered o'er the ground ! 
Though pludxed from off the choicest bowers, 

No^fragrance in them now is found ! 

And oh ! T f-el thfit it mu«t b% 

That she who've hands thi-^ wreath did weave. 
Will soon be lot to earth and me, 

For beauty uloome but for the grave ! 

Yet will she blospom in th» pky, 
' Where saintly gardens blush and bloom 
With flowers whose fadele-s sanctity 
Outlive tbe darkn B9 uf the tomb. a. 



MISC2LLANE0US POEMS. 251 



DECEMBER. 

The night is cold, the heavene are fair, 
The bams are rich with ripened sheaves ; 

And bepgared orchards, brown and bare, 
Are drifted with autumnal leaves. 

With festive rounds of social mirtb^ 

Witbin, the season we defy, 
While on the broad, old-fashionod hearth, 

The seasoned hickory blazes high. 

Tho tale is told, the poem read, 
The double joke improved to death 5 

Till dew-eyed Pity droops her head. 
Or broad-mouthed Laughter pants for 
breath ! 

Nor less his joy whose mood may choose, 

Apart from all the social rout, 
In quiet window nooks to muse. 

Upon the frozen world without. 

How fair the frosty pastures lie ! 

How grand against the detp blue sky, 
And sparkling keen with early snows, 

The highlands lift their shaggy brows I 

The fountain, frozen in the air, 

Hath li^st its pleasant summer tune ; 

And ail its mai'ble Tritons glare 
Thruu^h icy visors, at the moon ! 

Swi't as the eagle from the wood, 
Far <Micl ns, i-weeps upon the fold, 

The ^ka♦er skims the solid flood, 
Htd-ciieektd, and muffled from the cold. 

Summer is dead up n the hea^b. 
And folded in her wiuding-sheet, 



2?3 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And fitful gusts above her breathe 
Eolian dirges, lorn and sweet ; 

And ruder blasts, responsive, moan 
Tlirough hollow dells and woodlands hoar, 

Whose hoarse and ever-changing tone, 
Delights the ear of Fancy more. 

For as a captive lark who hears 
Her mates their matin-songs ronew, 

While she alone of coimtless choirs — 
Imprisoned from her native blue, 

Awates the house with plaintive criea 
Of longing, or assails the grate 

With desperate wings, and vainly tries 
To conquer her coutentless fate — 

So there are moments when the soul 
Rustles her plumes and longs fer flight, 

And brooks with pain her brief control ; 
And listening to those winds to-night. 

I seem to mount and ride the gale, 

With Boreas in his battle-car, 
Through blinding snows and battering hail, 

To realms beneath the Polar star ; 

Where Winter, muffled to the eves, 
Doth watch his weird nuns wax and wane, 

And locked in ribs ot eldest ice. 
Maintains his lone, primeval reign. 

Times go by turns : I will not mourn 

Ii; that it is not always May ; 
But in the arms of Fancy borne, 

Slide easily from day to day; 

Watch Nature in her various state, 
Fix wings of mirth to languid hours, 

Stir up the tires of home, and wait 
With large content the birds and flowers ; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 253 

Nor envv him his darkened wayw, 
Who may not love the frost and snow, 

Or in the hale December days, 
To hear the wind's wild trumpets blow ! 

H. S. C. 



A LAMENT. 

The summer flowers are drooped and dead, 

And all their delicate Tierfu ne 
Forth on the stormy breeze is shed. 

The sweetness of the pride of June ! 
Faded is all the;loveliiu88 

Of their oi c ■ brilliant leaves ; but oh ! 
We know the zephyr's goft caress, 

Again shall bid their blushes glow ! 

Lost one, so loved I I mourn for thee ! 

O, by the faded tints of even, 
And by that 1 )ve whose melody 

Burt-ts like the seraph-strains of heaven ; 
And by the pale and withered floweis, 

Whose dying we in \ ain deplore— 
The faded tints of life's pure hours, 

0, would that they were thine once more ! 

Lost one, so dear ! I mourn for thee ! 

Thy heart's sweet chords are touched n 
more. 
Save by wild winds that mournfully 

Sweep its aeolian fibres o'er 
Thy frail bark on Ife's rough sea to«t, 

Amid tierce tempest and wild wave ! 
Though t-hip wrecked, is n.t wholly lost ; 

CnKisT the Great Pilot, still can save ! 

Then humbly prav, and with strong faith ; 
Prostrate thy«elf before the Cross. 

And sunshine s'ill shall glad.thy path- 
There 18 a gain for every la^s. l. g. r. 



254 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



AN ASPIRATION. 



O, FOR the plume of ttie eagle, to soar 

To the far- aw ay bounds of eome beautiful 

shore, 
Where the tky is not always by tempests 

o'ercast, 
Nor the Passion-flower fades in the midsum- 
mer's blast : 
Or to wander in groves where the red roses 

weep. 
For the love ( f the wood-nymphs that kiss 

them in sleep- 
Where the orange and citron, and magnolia 

flowers, 
In the soft bummei night, shed perfume 

in love- bowers ! 



O, FOR the wing of the wild bird, to sweep 

O'er tne white Leaving waves of the desolate 
deep. 

To some island of palms, or some rock of 
the fea, 

Where the spirit may roam in its solitude free : 

Where the free eoul may ca^t off its shackles 
of toil. 

Where the pale brow may smooth out its wrin- 
kles awhile, 

And the heart's deepest murmurs an echo 
may find, 

In the hush of the grove, or the sob of the 
wind. L. o. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 255 

A HEALTH. 

I FILL the glass and drink the health 
Of woman's loveliest paragon, 

Whose every grace in nature's wealth, 
I love so well to gaze upon ; — 

Whose every tone is music's own — 
(And fresh and beautiful are they)— 

Whose eyes, like stars in the blue zone, 
The image of the mind display. 

For whom, the starry heavens are bright, 
The purple c!ouds close round the sun, 

Tne balmy breeze p-^rfumes the night, 
And streams in cryst?l waters run. 

On thee, the seal of beauty set, 
Fond Nature blenrled with hor lot ; 

O, sweet the day when first we met ! 
Thy image ne'er will be forgot ! 

L. G. R. 



L 



THE PAST. 

How strangely tense the charmed chain. 

Uniting us to years gone by! 
How unexpected rise again, 

Forgotten scenes of pain or joy ! 

How weirdlv in ns wfkes a^ain, 
Li>e echoe^ low with magic power, 

Tiie MeiTtoiiPH full (ranght "in. pain. 
That shadow life's last-fleeting hour I 



356 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Fond \f eraorips ! how quick they steal, 
O'er lonelv hearts, with sweet delight! 

A glimpse of Heaven thev reveal, 
Then stealthily they take iheir fliglit ! 

Like hues that from the rainbow gleam, 
A moment only do tliey 1 ist ; 

We waken from a blissful droam, 

Only to dud the vision past ! L. g. 



A MEMORY. 

Oh, we shall never meet again, 

Upon this mortal shore, 
But pray we meet in spirit-land, 

Wheie partinoj is no more : 
How oft b( side my darling May, 

I sit, at twilight hour ; 
While son? and love, dying away, 

Made glad our garden bower. 

Ten years have passed, this very day, 

8inc» last we fondly met ; 
Ten years I and ntill, my darling May, 

Thy memory I hive kept : 
Re •I'^mbrance of fhy saintly face. 

Will never hence dtjpart ; 
Nonp otlier may usurp the jlace 

Thou boldest in my heart. 

One shininc; tress of {roldrn hair, 

Bids the^e fond memories start ; 
Tliy tear-* la^t lelt their lustre there— 

I cla p it to my heart ! 
Oil. when in Deatli'w cold arms I sink, 

Wbo v^ill, with tender one. 
Treasure for me a dnrk-browu link — 

A ringlet of my hair? L. G. b. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 2 "7 



SONNET. 

TiiK sunbeams come but all too sadly slow- 
The radiance of thy pure and holy love, 
Like ]>rightest rays of the warm sun above, 

While dullest days only too slowly ^o. 

And now I lay this fevered brow that aches, 
Sadl}' a^^ainst a dreary recess cold : — 

If b;it "each bnrstin;^ heart that breaks, 

Might show what pain the human heart 
may hold ! 

I would, O darling dear, soul of my dream, 
You e'er might reign the queen of all my 

song ! — 
Thus gladdest music should be borne along, 
And peaceful visions should banish doubt and 
gloom : 
And e'er on waves of Time's resounding sea, 
Shall come bright visions, my dear love, 
of thee ! ' l. o. k. 



SONNET. 

With thoughts and vagaries antique, and 
quaint. 

One day I v>'andered by a streamlet clear ; 

And as, in careful mood, I drew anear, 
I gave to care fall reign without restraint. 

'1 he slumbrous noontide sun is scarcely ,meet 
To give to toil the over-weary soul ; 

But while we lie and dream at Summer's fee: 
'Tis joy to see the far-off ocean roll. 
33 



258 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

IIo. dreamer there ! what thou^ h sweet rest 

be thine ! 
Dodt thou not know the idle hor.rs rre 

past ? 
ITast thou not heard sv.cct leisnro crnnct 

las I ? 

What thonjifh thou longest for a peace hc- 
ni;^'n ? — 
Enjoy as best thou may thy perfect hour— 
The future of thy rdvyVlmil drrldy lovrer ! 

L. G. R. 



SONNET. 

E;kth'^ beauty surely fades away and dies ' — 
There is an end to all that charms our ears ; 
There is an end to laughter and to tears — 

There is an cud to all that glad^j our eyes. 

Sweet visions once came thronging close 
around mo. 

Of one more dear than others that I love :— 
My eyes grown dim, her face no more I see — 

Or her, inconstant, whereaoe'er I rove. 

Oh I could I feel her happy arms surround 
me : 
Were loving lips to mine in true love prest— 
Then should my spirit find eternal rest ! 

More dim my eyes ; — beauty no more I see ! — 
No more I call her spirit-sister -friend ; — 
This is the end of all !— Love hath no end ! 

L. G. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS PULMS. 



AUGUST. 

Gw trips along through morning dew, 
Bright August, clad in rosy hue ; 
And all the hills their voices raise — 
And myriad songsters sing her praise. 

Her reign is one of quiet grace ; 
The softest blushes wreathe her face ; 
Sweet scents she pours out to the breeze — 
»She gilds the fruit on bending trees ; 
Her wand she lifts o'er tields of grain — 
And gladdens earth with tides of rain: 
The sun may scorch, \v.\t still she showers 
Kefreshing de^YS on drooping flowers— 
And hoards of good cheer .\ugust tiingeth. 
And bounteous blessings August bringetiu 

^u i}leasantly. Y:\\o(-i month, thou coniest now ! 
At thy approach the curled curii blades bow ; 
And as thy perf amed breezes slowly pass. 
New daisies smile above the fref^hened grass ; 
Or when thy copious moisture fills tlie land, 
The parch<''d lips of earth with joy expand. 

Now gather wj the pumpkin yellow, 
"With luscious apples, ripe and mellow ; 

Safe frcm the rain, the sheaves of grain 
The burstuig granaries fully till— 
While 'noath the hill, the cider-mill 

Awaits the heavy-loaded wain. 

In shadeless paths the fevered, panting sun 
Its stilly flight tlirough fervid paths ascends 



260 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Till sullen Sinus his race hath rnu. 
And August's dreamy, dalljdng influence 
blend 
With lustier September in the end ; 
Then gladdening breezes from the sighing 

west, 
At eventide shall bring us longed-for rest. 

L. G. H, 



BEMEMBR-\NCE. 

A>^ HTAii by star relumes the night, 
The dear by-gones of life come back. 

When Memory's soft, reflexive light, 
Beams kindly on its rugged track. 

Some happy hour, - some holy thought, — 
Some scene of youth's delightful day, — 

When every ]nilse with joy was fraught, 
Oft cheers the doubtful spirit's way. 

But, oh ! let not long buried shame, 
Eeturn to one who bears its smart. 

Lest with a breath is quenched the flame 
That purities a contrite heart. 

Remembrance ! from the tomb of years, 
Tliy magic summons living things ; — 

Each joy, each pain, each hope, each fear. 
That round this mortal pathway clings. 

OSCAR H. IIAUPEIi. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 261 

BROADWAY. 

A STARVATION BALLAD. 

Eight o'clock by the Citj' Hall clock ! Aud 

alight, 
Its four faces look four Avays into the night ! 

Eight o'clock ! And the shadows creep into 

the street, 
And they mimic the motion of pattering feet. 
They walk, but they talk not, they utter no 

tones, 
Aud they make not a sound on the footworn 

stones, 
As step they keep from square to square. 
To the tramp of pauper or millionaire : 
Past six-story houses that, spectrally white. 

Jut into the night, 
Stealing along with so stealthy a tread. 
If they did not stir you would fancj' them 

dead. 
Or members perhaps of the fidgety host 
That gathers by night on tbe Stygian coast. 
Every soul of them somebody's ghost : 
Stealing along as a goblin steals 
With noiseless shoes at a gentleman's heels. 
With no sound in their feet, and no sound in 

their talk. 
With a still step that leaves not a print on <h3 

walk. 

But they shrink from the stare of the lamp- 
light glare, 
Wirh a flickering footstep here and there, 
As a murderer shrinks fi'om the flare of day — 
In a singular, Avhimsical sort of way— 
And an odd, fantastic sort of way — 
In a curious, (luizzical way. 



262 MISCKLLANEOUb I'OEMS. 

I Bit ill my oaiTet, aud — uotliiug to eat— 
I li8t to the ceaseless clatter of feet. 
Of tlie feet of the ci-owd. tli:)t f])'.)8 and flow-* 
With a qiioer sort of rliythm thnt nobody 

knows — 
With a restless rhytlini that noV)ody knows 
Or interprets -as into the darkness damp 
They tloat like dream.^ 1)y the f tirthest lamp, 
That lights to thoron;,di fares of gloom, 
Like a dim feu foUet to the door of a tomb. 
I sit in my gan^et, and— nothing to cat — 
Listen long to the resonant rhythm of feet : 
Of the feet of the rrowd that evcrywlicre 
Surges into the surging thoroughfare : 
Of the feet of the crowd that hore and there 
Surges out of tlie surging thoroiighfare— 
As one bv one. as if for prcv. 
Tliey liit'through ])ark ;vud Jim by-way. 
Aud one by one, past lamp after lamp, 
That ])eers at them, leers at them, doggedly 

tramp. 

I have sat in my u^rrct siu'.;e four lo-day, 

In a dreaming, fanciful sort of way — 

In a drv^am of a })trk and a dead man stark. 

.Nnd a drii)ping of rain iji tlic lonesome "lark ; 

In a dream of a boat with but one to row. 

Whnro the shii)s by tlio dock rock to and fro, 

]5y the drowsy dock rock to and fro, 

And a i)lunge of the oar.iman down under the 

r>ay. 
Where they lodge a man gratis, who has 

nothing to pav. 
Auil wlio sleeps wlicro lie niiiy. Iiaviug noth- 
ing to p.iy - 
Juot nothing whatever to pay. 

To the clangor of stages t liat jja.ss b\- the door 

I liark till it sinks to a far-olT roar — 

To the l;'.i\:our and moan of a far-oH' roar. 

or a roar iiks the uoirjo of t!io sounbu'' sr-i, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 2^,3 

Repeatinc^ its world-old monody, 

Till it Btiireth my Hord l)y itrf mumble and 

moan 
To a sinftular sense of lieinf;- alone, 
Alone with the c-rowd that ebb:? and Hows. 
With a queer sort of rhythm that nobody 

knows, 
And I fancy I Be:j as you sec in a r^lat^H. 
The perambvdant souls of the people that 

pssy. 
With a wefrd sort of sense, as a seer in dream 
Sees tilings as they are. not t'iini;s as they 

seem. 

]V[ere spectres of men— Uifre efllgies they! 
j\[ere Hindoos whose c;ods are no better than 

clay ! 
For IlindoGS there be, without crossing the 

SCQ. 

(And this worship of sense of idolatry). 
Who but think, as they walk, as they talk, as 

they pray. 
Of the tr;ide they have made in the mart of 

Broadway — 
And the tfain they make fair, in the mart of 

Broadway — 
In the market and mart of Broadway. 

With a weird sort of sense, as I wea^■e them a 

song, 
I scan their sad souls as they shuttle along. 

Souls withered with paaUon! Souls shrunken 

and sere 
With the long atrophy of ten thousand a year ! 
Souls scurvy with vices I Souls leprous with 

crime ! ^ 

Souls that madden to murder for less than a 

dime ! 
Souls mildewed and fnn';ouB! Soils buitcrcd 

for pence ! 



264 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Soul3 i-Geliiig and dnink with the ■wild %yiue of 

sense I 
Soul.s eaten with cancer! Souls tos.sed ever- 
more 
With au internal typhoid that gnaws at their 

core ! 
Sotils starving for something — a something 

forget 
In their madness and bjiudness— yet knowing 

it not ! 
With a weird sort of sense, as I weave thorn a 

song, 
I fi'.-an the Bad Sonls as they shnflie along. 
And one is a dw.irf ; one wrinkled and old ; 
And one is a leper ; one jingles his gold, 
And laagh.ti to himsejf that the true end of 

man 
Is to keep what he gets and to get all ho can, 
And people to whom yo;i must always bo giv- 
ing 
Shoidd not be cndored in the land of tho liv- 

hig; — 
One shambles; one t-lruddeiu and, pallid and 

Ht«rk. 
Gripes the hilt of a dirk and steals into the 

dark. 
I see them as Spiiit;^. The masks that they 

wear 
Te'l not of them, save that the spirit is there ; 
And up from the midst of them cometh a 

moan 
That is very like pi'aver in its tremulous tone. 

There's a ci.rioTis ballad in Persian, begun 
With "]\Ien die of starvation in more ways 

than one," 
And somehow to-nif;ht, with a misty refrain. 
The \^or.ls of the balladist run in my brain : 
Till "It's better," • xav to mvself, "on the 

whole. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 2t,S 

To be Btarving in body than starving in aovil, 
And shrunk with starvation of spirit are they. 
And their 80\ile are mere ghouls though they 

walk on Broadway, 
And hungrily hunt to and fro on Broadwaj' — 
Mere ghouls that keep walking Broadway!"' 

Out of this human hunger, though Broadway 

may ban 
It, the man shall evolve the full manhood of 

man. 

That manhood that, true to the innermost 

truth, 
Ancient dreamers foretell as th' elixir of youth. 
Working out for him Godhead and manhood 

in one, 
Which wedded, the problem of progress is 

done : 
For unborn in the matrix of history's plan 
Lies the man who is God, and though God is 

yet man, 
And siire as the world moves, so sure at the 

last. 
This historic cycle of gestation passed, 
Shall emerge from the ages that travel and 

teem. 
The man of whom dreamers in poetry dream. 
And talk ye of progre.ss — as if by the rod 
Could be metred the travail of "^man with the 

God 
That stirreth within him ? Nor mark that its 

goal 
Is the mystic ideal of God in the soul r 
To be learned in logic is not to be wise. 
Else were this human hunger an instinct thit 

lies, 
And the soul a mere gourmand — the maxim ir. 

clear — 
To be pampered with so many thousands a yeai'. 
34 



256 ] MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

To be satisfied, sated, with very hard cash, 
And its historic manhood expressed by a dash, 
Or, to vices unnamed, made pander and slave, 
To rot with the carrion that rots in its grave. 
Hard cash if you like ' But xmless you've a 

notion 
That God is a mode of molecular motion, 
Or something of that sort, the soul must have 

food 
To evolve its liigh manhood of beauty and 

good, 
Its ultimate manhood of beauiy and good. 

Not good as men reckon the good to-day, 
But good in a queer rather obsolete way ; 
Not good, you know, for a million or so, 
But good in God's sense, not in that of Broad- 
way. 
Not good as they say a man 's good on l>road- 

way — 
In the financial sense of the good on Broad- 
way - 
In the quizzical sense of Broadway. 

But all this, you say, as Menander would 

reason, 
Like a drama in May. is somewhat out of 

season. 

Man is matter and folly— no reason to doubt it — 
But what is the use of this prating about it ? 
For a snug little cottage, with coals on the 

grate, 
Is better by far than a palace of state 
In those ideal regions, where palaces wane 
Or wax with a breath, like castles in Spain. 
Puny poets may talk of conditions ideal, 
liutthe cottage in question is cosy and real, 
And the beggar asleep in his Baxter street 

stall, 
Mav dream of high manliood, conditions and 

all. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 257 

And from shadow-possessions, that are not, 

but seem, 
Wake up hungiy and breakfastless after his 

dream. 
Moreover, however opinions may varj', 
There 's no three meals a day saus a good 

commiKBary, 
And in those Platonical mansions of mist, 
Good mutton and beef very seldom exist : 
For philosopher-fools may rhyme, mumble and 

mutter 
Of Utopias that set the savans in a flutter. 
But the steam of the engine is plain bread 

and butter; 
And whoso would stop it or run it awry, 
Has only to cut off the motive supply! 
I agree with you. But I've been troubled 

from youth 
With an obsolete liking for radical truth. 
It 's a family failing. I'm sorry for it, 
For to lie, a 'a medt, is far better than wit. 
And many a wit who has failed at his trade. 
By lying a little, success might have made— 
For in this life-strugtfle for dollars and centti, 
The very best capital 's arrant pretence, 
And the protit. success, very largely depends 
On judicious h'ing, and there the thing ends. 
Bread and butter is great. However, I can 
Not get over my dream of the ultimate man. 
I see him in germ, in the mystic ideal, 
And dream in the soul of humanitj'^ real; 
And be he illusion, then being indeed 
Is a bottomless pit, without purpose or creed, 
And of all the sad things in this world of 

misgiving, 
And incomplete life-dream, the saddest is 

living. 

But bear with a couple of nimiles. pray, 
Apropos to these people that walk on Broad- 



25S MISCELLANEOUS PpKMS. 

That, day unto day, to and fro on, Broadway 
Hunt hungry for something not found on 
Broadway — 
For something not sold on Bi-oadway. 

Have you sat by the sea some beautiful day, 
When'the sun doth set not a mile away ? 

Vrith a face as full aa an Eastern moon, 

Aud twice as large as it is at noon ? 

^\^^en the sun stoops down till he dips his 

hair 
Of skeined gold in the waters bare ? 
When hke God's head the sun stoops down, 
(While the shadows steal through the dingy 

town) 
Till he dips his face in the sounding sea 
That purrs with a rhj-thmical monody, 
Like the soul of a poet so full of rhyme 
That it can not but sing for a whole life-time ? 
Have you sat thus for hours, till the reverie 
Of a strange, strange life, was in the sea ? 
When you know how a life should be set to 

8ong, 
With a rhvthmical pulse as it floats along ; 
Ceaselessiy singing hke the sea. 
With that within that makes melody ; 
Ceaselessly singing, like a rill. 
Through many a meadow, down many a hill, 
Its melody weaving in tangled braids 
Ah it steaieth away to the woodland shades. 
Where, wind.ng its way tlirough many a glen, 
It still sings on unheard by men, 
Not yet, but at last, in his history's plan, 
A music like this hath man. 

But tliese sad souls of which I am weaving 

my song, 
With a weird sort of sense, as they shuffle 

along — 
How many of these, throiigh the din of the 

dav, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 259 

Keep stjBp to all this in the mart of Broadway— 

In the mutter and mumble and moau of 
Broadway, 

And the guttural grumble and groan of Broad- 
way— 

In the terrible torrent whose time through 
Broadway 

Keeps a vague imder-curreot of rhyme through 
Broadway— 

In the scurry and acoustic scourge of Broad- 
way, 

And the sonorous sob of the surge of Broad- 
way — 
Of the ceaseless surge of Broadway ? 

Have you sat on the hilltop some beautiful day, 
When the sun doth set not a mile away ? 

When eastern hills put on their hoods, 

And music stealeth from the woods, 

As if from some dream-land whose monody 

wells, 
Set unto the swinging of Eden bells ? 
'1 hose Eden bells that in Moslem tales 
Are the leaves of tall trees in the mvstical 



To whose zephjTS they stir with so tangled 

a tune 
That could learn it no brook in the month of 

June — 
With so tan'ji;led a tune that it causeth all feet 
In these valleys to move with a metrical beat. 
And so tangled a tune that the woodlands 

nod 
To the sleepless and infinite pulses of God, 
Till people and vales, trees and leaves there- 
upon, 
Are but parts of a ghostly diapason ? 
Ha-ve- you sat thus for hours, till the reverie 
Of a strange, strange life, was in earth and 
tree ? 



26 ■> MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Have yoii listened long, till a mj-stic Idn 

To this strange, strange life. wa"8 felt -within ? 

Then you know how a life should be set to the 

rote 
Of a rhythmical pulse as iti* numbers float — 
As through meadows sweet doth a streamlet 

pass, 
Like music winding through the grass, 
Stirring the grasses all day long 
With the tiuiiling laughter of its song ; 
Stirring the daisies and lilies tall. 
Till they cannot forget its mystic thrall, 
And nod at every turn and wind, 
Witli the trail of melody left behind. 
Not yet. but at last, in his histoiy's plan. 
Now dimly prefigured, there cometh the man 
Whose heart-beat and soul-beat thrill sudden 

upon 
Creation, that answers in weird unison. 
1 see him in dream, in strange visions by 

night : 
On the stallion of Progress he rides to the 

tight. 
His armor none pierceth I Who barreth his 

way. 
Him rideth lie down I None shall hold him 

at bay. 

But these sad souls of which I am weaving 
my song. 

With a weird sort of sense, as they shuiHe 
along — 

How many of these, through the din of the 
day 

Keep step to all this in their ti-amping Broad- 
way — 

In the toil and turmoil of their tramping 
Broadway, 

As they hungrily himt to and fro on Broad- 
wav, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 261 

For something no man ever found on Broad- 
way — 
For somethin.',' quite useless they say, 
And therefore uot sold on Bioadway. 

Twelve o'clock by the City Hall clock! And 

alight 
Its four faces look four ways into the night ! 

Steals step after step from the }iitifal dens 
nii,ht concert Salomons— they are numbered by 

tens— 
Which, so is man made, like all houses of sin. 
Seem palace without and prison within. 
Like some under-ground city of gilded mau- 

soles 
Inhabited only by corpses and ghords : 
Ghovtis that laugh, as they c|uatf in the red 

lamp-shine. 
To the health of Lord Lust, cups of wild, -wild 

wine. 
Bat it's over. It passes. The lights are out 

all. 
It is twelve by the clock at the City Hall. 
And the grini old dials, cadaverous white. 
Stare blankly and four ways over the night. 
It is over - tlie revel. Dead, its thnii'ler of 

brass, 
Ani the tall lamps leer as tlie revelers pass - 
Pass like corpses : just tliis dwell a moment 

upon : 
They are dead though they walk, for their 

manhood is gone, ' 
And I scan their sad souls, and I weave them 

a song 
With a weird sort of sen^e, as they shr.tfle 

along. 

Bat it 's midnight. 1 've only a word more to 
sa-\- 



262 -MiSCELLAKEOVS POEMS* 

El© to-mori-ow I meet theiii again on Broad- 
way, 

In the resonant rumble and roar of Broad- 
way. 

And the desperate, dashing Lodore of Broad- 
way — 

In the sullenly sonorons sob of Broadway, 

And the thvmderous threnody throb of Broad- 
way— 

In the moneyed, monotonous mob of Broad- 
way; 

In the ravenous wrangle and rush of Broad- 
way, 

And the tortuouw tangle and push of Broad- 
way — 

In the crowded and garrulous cram of Broad- 
way— 
In the jungle and jam of Broadway. 

Twelve o'clock by the ( )itv Hall clock 1 And 

alight. 
Its four faces look four ways into the night I 

And now, as an Arab would say or would sing 

In his fables of lady and ghoul. 
By way of a morsel I "add just this thing, 

And* its maxims are true as a whole : 
That the boggar in sou! in often a king. 

And the king is a beggar in soui ; 
That a man may be moneyed and pampered 

and fat, 
And a manikin only, in spite of all that ; 
That one may have brown-atone, and footmen 

at ca'l. 
And be on'y a pauper in spite of it all ; 
That in spite of neglect and of i)iti'es8 ban. 
The paujier is often far more of a man — 
Is nearer the man whom seers have foretold 
Than the mi'ionaire with his worship of go'd. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 263 

Who to keep all he gets and to get all he can 
Forgetteth the God that is most of the man, 
And who barters his beautiful day unto day, 
By the yard, for the smallest conceivable pay, 
In the trade he has made in the mart of 

Broadway, 
And the gain he makes fain in the mart of 

Broadwa}' — 
In the market and mart of Broadway. 

Twelve o'clock by the City Hall clock ! And 

alight. 
Its four faces look four ways into the night. 

I sit in my garret, and— nothing to eat — 
Hearken dreamily still to the clatter of feet : 
Of the feet of the crowd that ebbs and flows 
V/ith a queer sort of rhythm that nobody 

knows. : 
Of the crowd repeated again and again 
In the feverish fancies that people my brain. 
I sit and, a-dream, hsten long to the tread 
Of another Broadway inside of my head ; 
But my di-eam of a park and a dead man 

stark, 
And a dripping of rain in the lonesome dark, 
And my dream of a boat with but one to row. 
Where the ships by the dock rock to and fro 
(As if they dreamed toss to and fro), 
And a plunge of the oarsman down under the 

Bay— 
They have passed with my sight of the souls 

on Broadway. 

Of the souls hke mere ghoids that keep walk- 
ing Broadway, 
And hungrily hunt to and fro on Broadwav, 
For something no man ever found on Broad- 
way, 

35 



j64 mtscf.llanf.ous poem's. 

And something no firm Iceeps for sale oe 

Broa<l-way : 
Of the souls and the ghouls that keep walk- 
ing Broadway, 
Every one for its own most legitimate prey : 
But the sold for mere gold as they walk on 

Broadwaj', 
And barter Life Beautiful merely for pay, 
They are fewer by night than by day, 
And scarcely more eager for prey. 

FRANCIS OERRT FAIRFIELD; 



SONNET. 

A s )FT breath there — a gentle whisper here, 
To it as to a floating straw we cling ; 
We grasp at this, at that, at anything ; 

We catch at Hope — and then we shrink from 
Fear. 

It were indeed, dear love, a heavenly bliss 
Might I those hps, so angel -pure, but press ; 

I ask the siimmer winds to waft a kiss. 
So that thy heart but sweetly answers Yes I 

Soft as some fauy footstep floats along, 
Through lone, love-haunted chambera of 

the night. 
Come sacred visitants of Love and Light, 
With storied wealth of beauty and of song — 
Come floating down upon Night's shadowy 

stream, 
Like rhythmic flow of some sad poet's 
dream. u a. b. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 365 



SONNET. 

A SWEET face follows me where'«i- 1 go : 
I may not put it from me if I try ; 
And would not though the potency had I, 

A face with heavenly beauty all aglow. 

It makes the burthens of my heart more 
light, 

This saintly face of one supremely blest, 
And sombre shadows take their silent flight, 

And weary nature finds her tranquil rest. 

It fills with sunshine all my darkest days — 
It leads me upward to a better life ; 
It leads me past the lairs of sin and strife ; 

It goes with me through all the thorny ways — 
It will be with me e'er until the end. 
My spiiit-sister and my faithful friend. 



SONNET. 

Thou art r.ot cold, though thou may'st strive 
to be • 

Unloving, calm, and passionless as night :— 
A word, a look, may light thy face so bright j 

A smile of thine can set my spirit free ! 

So too, in nature seen : iinnumbered flowers 
Their petals close at sight of dying day ; 

No sympathy they share with night's"^ dark 
hours — 
They yield no color to the moon's pale ray. 



266 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS» 

Cold ! — while in tropics nature ever smiles : 
Concealed beneath the depths of thy dark 

eyes. 
Deep in the heart's recess^ love slxTinbering 
lies ; 
While o'er the si ence of some secret isles 
Thon vainly striv'st to check by subtle art 
The glance that tells the love within thy 
heart! l. g. e. 



SONNET. 

Hold closer still my trembling hand, dear 
love ; 
Its touch, since first you held it in j'our own, 
Cleansed of all stain, has whiter, purer 
grown, 
As thy pure heart is pure like His above. 

O, hold my hand in yours a little while, 
E'en as you now enshrine in youra, my 
heart, — 
Which throbs and beats but in your loving 
smile — 
For life were death, were fond lives drawn 
• apart 1 

My dear, dear love — dear love — I love you so ! 
Whate'er you do or say, I cannot blame — 
In tenderest tones I ever name thy name ; — 

And even now, my voice comes soft and low — 
My being all for your sweet self I stake — 
So sweet were death, to die for your sweet 
sake ! l, o. r. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 267 



SONNET. 

I TOOK her hand in mine, and smiled on her : 
The words I said were spoken sad and slow ; 
But what I murmured then you may not 
know — 
Her bosom's stilly depths would never stir ! 
For like a cameo, cut upon a vase, 
The passionless repose of her sweet face 
Was harder by fond passion to be borne, 
Than withering accents of intensest scorn ! 

I know not— ah, if I but only knew !— 

Perhaps there lingered in her mouth's 

sweet bloom, 
The faintest shadow of reluctant doom — 
Perhaps those large, dark eyes, were wet with 
dew- 
Only a hint of love's sweet tenderness — 
A secret sigh, that would my spirit bless. 

L. G. K. 



SONNET. 

I KNOW, my love, were I to die to-day, 
My sealed eyes would open at thy breath — 
My soul would speed back from the Isles of 
Death, 

So you should kiss my lips as cold I lay ! 

Or. were my body lying in the grave. 
Should you but shed one warm tear of 
regret, 
Quick would upspring such flowers as never 
fade. 
To witness that true hearts can ne'er forget ! 



268 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Thus is thy love : bo ardent, pure, and true- 
Its vines are wreathed with blossoms and 

rare fruit — 
From foliage green its clinging tendrils 
shoot — 
Or sweetest essence of immortal dew. 
By which, in saintly realms of Paradise, 
The waiting angels' surely recognize ! 

li. G. R. 



THE OLD CHURN. 

It stands within the corner yet. 

That quaint, old fashioned chiu'n ; 
Ah me, those hours I ne'er forget, 

When I was called to turn ! 
That well worn handle oft I seize, 

In reveries of old-time, 
When life seemed only bread-and-cheese, 

And youth, in boyant prime, 
Was all a rosy, radiant dream — 
Bonny-clapper, here we are ! 
Butteraulk and cream ! 

And listening to that music now, 

By younger hands evoked, 
I seem to hear the lowing cow. 

And stalwart steer unyoked 
Come browsing home at fall of night, 

Along the daisied lane ; 
And thrilhng with that old delight, 

A farmer's boy again ; 
Barefoot and jubilant I seem — 
Honey-comb and clover-bloom. 
Buttermilk and cream ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 269 

I Bmell, blown through the open barn. 

The fragrant aftermath ; 
I hear the harsh, tin dinner horn. 

That calls men from the swath. 
Where, when the sun was zenith high. 

The mowers in a row 
Swept through the hip-high timothy 

With faces all aglow ; 
And as if churning in a dream 
Back to those days to pass 1 seem — 
Bonny-clapper, dipper-dapper 
Buttermilk and cream ! 

Now I am old ! my scattered hair 

la white with sorrow's snow. 
And dreams of what was bright and fair, 

Are only left me now. 
Oh, would that I could be once more 

That guileless, happy boy ! 
But ah, my sighs can ne'er restore 

That all too-tleeting joy— 
When care was strange, and fun supreme — 
Strawberry-shortcake, 
Buttermilk and cream ! 

But yet for all, I will not be 

A dotard to repine. 
Love-light through all my past I see, 

As simlight glows through wine. 
Bring me the churn, and let me seem 

A glad boy as of old ! 
Let me renew that youthful dream — 

Those vanished years of gold ! 
Ah me ! it sings the old-time theme — 
Bonny-clapper, dipper-dapper, 
Buttermilk and cream ! h. s. c. 



270 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



WHY BEEATHE WE HERE ? 

Why breathe we here ?— why is our doom 

To bnd — and then decay ? 
Why must our hopes like roses bloom, 
Then lade as quick away ? 

Why should our aspirations rise 

Beyond the sun afar — 
Beyond earth's oldest memories — 

Bej'ond the Judgment Year ? 

Why have we souls that fondly yearn 

For peerless excellence ? — 
For boundless goodness and return 

Of Love and innocence ? 

Why have we faith in Mystery ? 

Why, at the Feast of Life, 
So many goblets tilled we see, 

With elements of strife ? 

Why fall the flowers from fruitful bough ? 

Why blossoms without fruit ? 
And why the blight that cometh now, 

And withers at the root ? 

Ah why, but in this lower sphere. 

We may be proved, prepared 
For that high realm of splendor, where 

His glories shall be shared ? 

For while we pine and sigh in vain, 

O'er dreams as light as air, 
Another reaps life's golden grain. 

The fields all ripe and fair. 

L. G. R 



MISCELLA'NliOUS POEMS. 281 



CONSTANCY. 

Now Memory strays to old-time days, 

Fraught mth alternate joy and pain :; 
I see ttoough haze of woodland ways. 

The suns that ne'er will rise again. 
No, nevermore, by sea or shore, 

Will Time's speet waves my sad soul Idas, 
Nor on this shore, f orevermore, 

Will thrill my heart with untold bliss. 

The by-gone days, like wandering wind. 

With vanished hopes— a goodly train, 
Have left sad memories behind, 

And still their fateful ghosts remain ! 
But bj'-gone smiles are with me still, 

With all their radiant, hallowed light ; 
And while I climb life's rugged hill, 

No cloud shall shadow their sweet sight 

The hour has come, the clierished hour, 

When, from the busy world spt free, 
I seek at length my lonely bower. 

And muse in rapturous love of thee ! 
And oh, how sweet to know that still 

Though severed from thee widely f ar> 
Our minds the self -same thought can fill, 

Our eyes yet seek the self -same star. 

Compulsion, from its destined course 

The magnet may awhile detain, 
But when no more withheld by force, 

It trembles to the North again : 
Thus, though the idle world may hold 

My fettered thoughts awhile from thee, 
To thee they spring when uncontrolled, 

With undiverted constancv. 
36 



282 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

The faithful dove, where'er by day, 

Through fields of au-, her pinions rove, 
Still seeks, when dayhght dies away. 

The shelter of its native grove i 
So at this calm, this silent hour, 

Whate'er the changing scenes I see, 
My heart, its weary wanderings o'er, . 

Returns unaltered still to thee. 

With eyes suflfused with Memory's tears, 

I gaze o'er Life's vast sea of blue. 
Till faintly Love's fair barque appears. 

Plowing the green waves safely through r 
For it I 've watched a weary year — 

This treasure-ship of wealth untold ; 
It sure will anchor at Love's pier, 

With its rich freight of finest gold. 

L. G. R. 



LIKE HIM. 

Like Him, they bore the cross 

Of sorrow and of care ; 
But now, refined from dross, 

A diadem they wear. 

Like Him, whose agony 

Our transient grief should chide. 
Each soul hath its Gethsemane, 

By suffering piirified. 

Like Him, the victory won, 

Their foes no more annoy ; 
Like Him, their earth-course run. 

They shall His rest enjoy. l. g. k. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 283 



THE WINTER OF THE YEAR. 

It 18 the Winter of the year ! 

O'er buried flowers the snow rifts lie ; 
The storms have veiled with ashen gray, 

The blueness of the summer sky : 
No brooks in babbhng ripples run, 

No birds are singing in the hedge. 
No violets nodding in the sun, 

Beside the brooklet's frozen edge ; 
Yet unto leafless, broken boughs, 

The greenest mosses closely cling, 
And near Btern Winter's stormy verge, 

Float soft prophetic airs of Spring ! 



It is the Winter of our life ! 

O'er buried hopes the snow rifts lie ; 
And storms have veiled with ashen gray. 

The blueness of a cloudless sky : 
No light steps cross the threshhold stone. 

No voice of love our welcomes greet, 
No gentle hand enclasps our own, 

With cordial salutations sweet : 
Yet unto bruised and broken hearts, 

Endearing words of promise cling, 
And float upon Time's stormy verge, 

Bright blossoms of eternal* Spring ! 

L. G. R. 



^ MISCELLANEOUS P©EMSE^ 



SILENTLY THE DAYLIGHT WASTETH, 

Dewy tears, like angel fingers, 

Fall so soft in twilight's glow, 
And the silvery sunset lingers 

Over all the earth below ; 
Fainter, paler, fades the gleaming 

Prom the golden-tinted west, 
And the shades of night and slumber 

Come to lull the world to rest. 

Silently the daylight wasteth, 

And the Night, with dusky pall 
And with deepening shadows, hastetb 

Through earth's broad baronial hall : 
Up the stairway, slowly creeping, 

Stealing through the portals dim, 
A sweet, tremulous sound is keeping 

Cadence with our vesper hjonn. 

Now a murmuring uncertain. 

Like the rustle of the trees. 
Or slight wave of silken curtain, 

Stirred by softest passing breeze, 
Whispers low along the passage — 

Sighs at ixjrtals of my door — 
Bearing sweet and tender message. 

From fond friends on Heaven's shore. 

O, strange voice of years departed ! 

Bear ye hence across the tide, 
Dearest love to the true-hearted, 

Early called to Jesus' side : 
In its spell the Past hath bound me — 

To its shade my soul still clings ; 
Now night closes close around me. 

Darkened clouds outstretch their wings. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 285 

Still the hearth of home is beaming 

With Boft rays of rosy hght, 
And sweet, saintly eyes are gleaming 

With a heavenly radiance bright : 
Some dear one awaits my greeting, 

Whose bright smiles are my delight ; 
Now I hear her voice entreating ; — 

So, sad thoughts, a last good night ! 

L. G. R. 



SENSIBILITY. 

Heavenly fountain, never failing ! 
With such sacred dew regaling, 
Moistening e'er the gifts so precious, 
With which holy skies refresh us. 

From the crystal fount of feeling 
Drop sweet tears, so softly stealing, 
Of dear Sympathy's bestowing. 
And for woes of others flowing. 

Thou too givest tears consoling. 

Which in secret oft are rolling 

Through our hearts, in rapture breathing — 

Hearts entwined with Friendship's wreathing. 



When our souls in prayer are turning, 
And with Heavenly flames are burning ; 
Whilst our God we are adoring, 
Love in baptisms thou art pouring, l. o. 



386 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



WAYFARING. 

Upon the brink of Life's wild stream 

I stand, and gaze into the sea 
Where bDlowy waves of Memory 

Strange music wildly wafts to me ; 
And through green waters' gleam and glow, 

Come forms of beauty beaming bright— 
Come radiant dreams of long ago, 

Illuminating all the night. 

Now comes a voice of mournful sound ! 
It speaks as varied seasons roll ; 

It numbers out the days of man- 
It hastes us to our final goal ! 

It speaks in melancholy tone, 
As, pointing to some new-made grave, 

It says, with sad, sepulchral moan, 
"Mortal, thy soul immortal save !" 

The voice is God's— in mercy given, 

Secret it breathes in every soul. 
To warn us that we live for Heaven, 

While Mercy's ages onward roll ! 
It tells us that a Savior calls, 

In tenderest, gentlest, sweetest sound ! 
"He giveth His beloved rest," 

Where'er the weary ones are found. 

I hear a voice, in angel tongue, 

Singing the ransomed millions' song, 
As, standing near Immanuel's throne. 

Seraphic anthems they prolong ! 
Spirit of Love, prepare bur hearts 

To join the augel chorus there, 
Till in a bright and cloudless home, 

We rest, the children of His care. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 28^ 

Our pathway here is sure beset — 

Take heed we must if we would win ; 
But in His arms the sheep are safe — 

Safe from temptation — safe from sin ! 
And though the way be lone and long, 

The fruits we pluck be filled with pain, 
We 've but to shun the paths of wrong, 

And strive our best Heaven's shore to gain. 

L. G. R. 



SONNET. 

Ah, then the sky was blue above our head ; 

The grasses greener grew beneath our feet ; 
The sweetest flowers more rich their per- 
fume shed. 

And reddest roses blushed for us more 
sweet. 
The sweetest smile illumed the sunniest face 

That ever flushed at touch of lover's lips ; 
Her queenly form moved with exquisite grace. 

Her dainty foot encased in satin slips. 

Then drank we dews distilled from mountain 
heather : 
Through country lanes we took lone eve- 
ning walks ; 
In twilight haze we had low lovers' talks ;' 
We quaffed life's rich, empurpled wines, to- 
gether. 
Long years have passed since we were cast 

apart, 
But still her form is shrined within my 
heart. l. a. r. 



2S8 MISCELLANEOUS POSMS. 



THE BROKEN-HEARTED ONE. 

I SAW her when the merry Spring 
Was sweet with buds and flowers — 

When love and jocund sounds of song, 
Sped the fleet-footed hours. 

'T was sweet to hear her silvery laugh, 

Upon the shining strand ; 
'T was sweet to feel her fairy feet 

Imprint the silvery sand. 

Her step was light and buoyant 

A.8 the dream of early love. 
While in her eye the star of Hope 

Gleamed radiant from above. 

Her laugh was as the gushing notes 
Of the song-bird's joyous strain, 

Her eyes wore the bright look of youth 
Which ne'er comes back again. 

Once more I sought her queenly form. 
In Summer's goi'geous bloom ; 

They told me by the murmuring stream 
She slept in the silent tomb ! 

Grief-worn, her spirit passed from earth, 

Ere life had scarce begun ; 
They laid her tenderly away, 

The broken-hearted one ! 

Ah, parted now life's golden cord ! 

Severed the silken chain 
That linked fond hearts in happy days. 

That come no more again ! l. o. k. 



MKCELLANEOUS POEMS. 289 



SONNET. 

Our paths diverge to meet no more again : 
Your heart is all too icy, freezing cold, 
For aught divinely formed in human mould ; 

We part in anger not, but bitter pain. 

Thus I must doubt if love e'er touched thy 
heart. 
Or bent thy knees before her holy shrine ; 
At my approach thou ne'er did'st trembling 
start. 
Nor thy soft eyes look tenderly in mine. 

Nor shalt thou harshly be condemned by me : 
Although thou hidest with a mask of pride 
Unspoken thoughts that in thy heart abide, 

For even now methinks a tear I see : 
I cannot tell if it for me may fall, 
So cold thou seem'st : Heaven only knows 
it all ! L. o. R. 



SONNET. 



Heb dark eyes glowed, then furtive glanced 
away, 
As she, in tender tones discoursed to me, 
Sitting beneath the tented trysting-tree — 

"Forgive me '.—but— may I trust you alway ? 

"In perfect faith I give it— thus, you see — 
"In confidence — " (her hand she placed iu 
mine) — 

"Some dire disaster still may come to me, 
"And blight the face you call all but divine." 

37 



290 MISCELLANEDUS POEMS. 

And then she breathed a sad sigh, soft and 
low: 
Her sunny head she laid upon my breast, 
As seeking haVen of a perfect rest ; 
Yet what my accents were, I scarcely know — 
How could I choose but kiss her hps, and 

say, 
"Dream not of grief — love lives in endless 
"dav ! " L. o. R. 



A CHILD'S EVENING PRAYER. 

In quiet hour of eventide. 

When modest rtowers in leaflets hide, 

And twili^'ht lingers faintly ; 
Dim its bright form revealing, 
Humbly a child is kneeUng, 

Breathing a prayer so saintly. 

Meekly she bends her tender brow. 
And presses soft, in earnest vow, 

With tiny fingers wreathing : 
In lulling tones her strains soft flow, 
Stirring the air as rose-leaf low. 

Mildly in prayer soft breathing. 

Father, while night is falling slowly. 
Let me, on meek knees, so lowly. 

Seek thee through the falling shade. 
Let Thy sweet love fail me never ; 
Watch over, guide, protect me ever, 

A child yet trusting in Thy aid." 

L. G. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 29I 



SONNET. 

We watched the sunset at the close of day, 
As hand in hand we sat together there— 
While blown against my cheek, her fallen 
hair 

Thrilled me like music, and my heart was 
May! 

The blushing clover-blossoms kissed her feet 
Wliile to my heart I prest her willing hand, 
More fair I thought her than in all the land 

Could any flower be, however sweet. 

The siiiking sunshine lay across her breast, 
As if it clasped her in its arms of gold, — 
And to itself her fairy form would fold, 

And dying so, would be more sweetly blest. 
Not jealous of the flowers or sun am I, 
But oh, my darhng, love me or I die ! 

L. G. R. 



SONNET. 

My little friend, while I hold fast thy hand, 
Let me but look within thy tender eyes. 
Regaining thus some glimpse of Paradise — 

Some faint apocalypse of Celestial Land. 

So shall it be, no truer eyes have met — 
No dearer friendship to the earth is known ; 

True friendship, that through time may not 
forget. 
And perfect trust I give to thee alone. 

This is the Present, though linked to the 
Past: 
What though to us there once came scenes 
of sorrow, 



292 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

We pass them to the altar of the mon'ow : 
But rather let this perfect joy e'er last — 

Thine eyes' sweet glances — I may not for- 
get them ! 

Than mine, beheve no truer eyes have met 
them! l. o. b. 



THINKING OF THEE. 

Thinking of thee, darling Mabel, 

Ever thus until I die : 
Thinking of thee, radiant angel. 

In thy starry home on high. 

Gladsome songsters now are warbling ; 

Bright flowers deck the fields of May ; 
Ijeaflets spread their palms so graceful ; 

Blossoms bud on every spray. 

Natm-e desports in fitful glee ; 

Radiant joy fills every eye ; 
Bighe my sad heart, sighs still for thee, 

And 't will mourn until I die ! 

Every morn the bright aurora 
Gilds the bright horizon line; 

Earth and nature, all seem mirthful— 
Every heart save only mine ! 

Ah, hfe nevermore shall charm me ! 

Ever must I mourn and sigh ! 
Thinking of thee, darling Mabel, 

Mourning, sighing, till I die ! l. o. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 293 



SONNET. 

I, COUNT that friendship of but Uttle worth 
That hath not ever an endearing word ; 
That ne'er with hope hath other fond hearts 
stirred— 

That ne'er to confidence hath given birth. 

True friendsliip holds not many tilings untold 
Of all the pains and pleasures of the earth, 

But it hath longings that no words can hold, 
And secret passions waiting for new birth. 

The truest friends speak ever soul to soul, 
And clasp their brother with a faithful hand, 
And pledge through tossing trials time to 
stand ; 
And though cold waves of grief should o'er 
them roU, 
Still, like the emblematic holly tree, 
Its flowers for bruised wounds bloom con- 
stantly, li. G. K. 



SONNET. 



Oh, she was sweeter than soft tropic wind. 
That gently blows o'er some fair Indian 

isles ; 
Full froUcsome, with wild and winsome 
wiles ; 
Than gold more bright, and as an angel kind 



294 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

A slender, girlish form, yet fairy bright, 
And purest glances fell from face serene, 

So sweetly shining 'mid soft, sunny Ught, 
As sense of saint or seraph still unseen. 

A touch, a tender tone, a low word said ; 

A fond face wistful waiting by the door ; 

A hand extended— this, and nothing more : 
These are the relics of the days that tied ; 

A kiss, a lingering, burning kiss — and yet, 

O cruel fate, to live — and still forget ! 

L. G. R. 



THE (CHRISTIAN'S TRUST. 

Oh, Christian soldier ! 'mid earth's strife, 

This lesson thou must early learn- 
To brave the ills and storms of life. 
And e'er to the good Father turn : 
Trust Him in every Avild despaii' ; 
Rely on His contidiug care. 

Should threatening clouds o'erspread the sky; 

Should gathering tempests round thee 
lower ; 
To Heaven lift thy tearful eye — 

Put trust in His Almighty power : 
Trust thou thy changeless Friend above. 
Who smOes on thee with gentlest love. 

Does night with thick and gloomy shade, 
Close in more close thy tangled way ? 

Dost thou e'er wander through the glade, 
'Mid scenes where beams no cheering ray ? 

Then Faith the dark veil shall divide, 

And bear thee to the Savior's side. 

Do trials weigh thy spirit down ? 

Do sorrows press thy yielding heart ? 
Lift thou thy cross, and jeweled crown 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 295 

Thine eyes shall meet, and joy impart ; 
Learn thou Ute's toils and ills to bear — 
Learn thou to trust thy firm Friend's care. 

What though deep sorrows should betide ? 

And what though troubles hedge thy way ? 
lu Christ thy patient soul confide — 

He '11 point thee to a brighter day : 
Thine eye fix on Immanuel's land, 
And trust thy Father's guiding hand. 

L. G. R. 



BLUE EYES. 

A DARK and flashing eye may speak 

Of a proud and fearless mind, 
Imbued with aspirations high. 

With lofty thoughts refined — 
With sparkling wit or fancies rare, 
Of lighter heart than gossamer. 

A pure, unsullied soul looks out 

From the bright eye of blue, 
Sweet token of a guileless heart, 

Forever warm and true — 
And thoughts of heaven, of hopes on high, 
Are mirrored in that azure eye. 

There beameth from the eye of blue, 

A lustre fair and bright, 
As the twin stars peer gently through, 

The transient clouds that fleck the night- 
Nor glittering gems nor jewels bright. 
Can rival their in-adiant light. 



296 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Those fair, soft eyes, of faintest blue, 
Ah me, their radiance none can tell ! 

Dearer than all on earth — more true, 
I still recall their magic spell ! 

They scatter blossoms round my way, 

Let 'me pursue what path I may. l. 



TO KATE M. : ON HER BIRTHDAY.* 

Wife, mother, on thy natal day. 
True Friendship's tribute I would pay, 

In token of the tender love 
From thee to thine, and constant care : 
And HgJf#» hears each heartfelt prayer, 

Snail send His spirit as a dove. 

Ah, could the simple prayers I say, 

But smooth earth's wild and rugged way, 

And strew Time's couch with flowers, 
How prodigal thy paths of peace — 
With plenteous love thy years increase, 

A Paradise of bliss thy bowers. 

And yet, I'd have thee not forget 
The truth that in thy heart is set. 

That earth is not thy highest home : 
Patient each testing trial bear — 
Each burthen lift, till thou shalt share 

Thy sacred rest beyond the tomb, 

Where Peace perpetually smiles. 
And silent shade thy soul begui'ee, 

And Charity holds her sweet mace — 
When earth and heaven together roil. 
As some illumined antique scroll, 

And Christ reveals His face. l. g. b. 

* September 27. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 397 



THE TEIUMPH OF LOVE. 

It was a dreamer, lying at his ease, 
Beneath the blossom-heavy apple-trees. 
Then seemed it there came near his rose-hid 

haunt 
A way-worn figure, hollow-eyed and gaunt, 
With gaze forever fixed upon the ground. 
As seeking for his grave with sighs profound. 
The beaded drops stood on his brow hke dew ; 
And ever and anon his palm hq drew 
Across his temples, as if thought opprest, 
By bitter memories that refused him rest. 
His name was Care. He was an abject wight, 
At whom the youthful dreamer laughed out- 
right. 
And raised his Bcornful eyes as if to say — 
"Thou canst not fright the sunshine from my 

day ! " 
"Avaunt, old mummer," then the young man 

cried ! 
Until we meet again, the Shade replied ! 
The lounger flung some daisies in his face 
Contemptuously. 1 hen sudden to the place 
Swept a shrunk figure, wrinkled and forlorn. 
Who bore upon his arm a scythe well worn, 
Spotted with crimson dew. In his lean hand 
He held a glass, through which a rapid sand 
Shd as his palsy shook it ; and his hair 
Streamed white and meagre on the troubled 

air, 
So swift he came ; as if a rushing wind 
Swept his thin raiment to the airs behind. 
And gazing sadly on the musing lad. 
And studying a parchment that he had — 
Yellowed by age and tear-stained, with regret 
He heaved a sigh, which seemed to say, "Not 
yet ! " 

38 



298 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And from afar a ghostly convent's chime 
Pealed lis recitative — "In time ! in time ! " 
WhOe trifling with a captured butterfly, 
The young man spake not, and the Thing 
passed by. 

Followed another Shape, whose moving frame 
Of juiceless bones did rattle as he came ! 
In his dry list a bunch of darts he clutched, 
And whatsoever living thing he touched 
Was blighted and abolished. E'en the grass 
He walked on withered ; and through him did 

pass 
The Svmimer noonday's indolent, faint wind 
Without obstruction. Horribly he grinned ! 
Round him the sweet daj''s I'edoleuce of bloom 
Seemed overborne by odoi*s of the tomb. 
And djing herbs at funerals, and the sick 
Sad scents of wilted blossoms, strewn too 

thick 
Ou new-made graves. Yet with a kingly stride 
August he came, as with a conqueror's pride ! 

Then said the Skeleton, " My name is Death. 
Whatever lives is mine. The babe's first 

breath 
Bears him the curse of being. On the way 
That I have walked lies ruin and decay — 
Extinguished nations, and bare-bleached bones , 
And crumbled palaces, and wrecks of thrones, 
Ashes and desolation, wrath and wo! 
The man who died a thousand years ago. 
No safer is than he whose victor-brow 
To-day receives inconstant Fortune's wreath ; 
For I alone am deathless, being Death 
Myself— except high God! whose minister 
1 am, to make vast earth one sepulchre ! 
The admonition of the falling leaf — 
The mountains of dead shells whereof the 

reef 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 299 

Is builded in mid-ocean— hetacombs 
Of extinct peoples, mnmmied in old tombs 
And mausoleums of an elder time, 
Corroborate me. Everything hath prime 
Decay and sinister abolishment. 
Consider well then, ere thy day be spent 
In shadowy pleasure, my sad argument ; 
For a sure moment cometh when to dust 
Thou shalt return, as all things breathing 
must." 

But the rapt dreamer saw him not at all, 
Or seemed as if he heard but the faint fall 
And dying cadence of the drowsy wind, 
For lightly smiling, he but plucked and twined 
Grass-ribbons round his fingers ; or else blew 
The thistle down aloof ; and as it flew 
Laughed in his happy folly, unaware 
That Pate that moment, hovering o'er him 

there. 
Baptized him with her mildews of despair ! 
Beside him on the grass a cythern lay. 
O'er which his fingers languidly would play : 
And as he hummed himBelf an idle song. 
Through the green orchard-aisles there tript 

along 
A rose-flushed girl, who cast her gentle eyes 
Upon the dreamer in a fond surprise. 
And stooped and kissed him ; and within his 

hair 
Wove flowers, embracing him. With drts^m- 

like stare 
He smiled upon her. An electric thrill 
Shot through his tingled pulses, and his will 
Was captive to that u^.experienced mood. 
Awhile the beatific vision stood 
And watched his frenzy grow. But when the 

boy 
Yearned toward her with anticipated joy, 
She fled and vanished in the woodland glooms. 



300 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

As fall crisp icicles on churchyard tombs, 

So rang her frozen laugh. As flame consumes 

Sere leaves, so Love devoured him with her 

flame ; 
And like a storm-struck lily drooped his head, 
As lost love's desolation smote him dead 
With an unlanguaged sorrow ! Cold and fair 
He lay, fanned over by the pitying air — 
As loving friends fan one who just has died, 
Nor hear his rushing spirit upward glide, 
Plumed and disprisoned from this mortal clay, 
Out of earth's darkness, into endless day ! 
And over him to talk at even came — 
Crooning together in the twilight there— 
Three moving effigies. Time, Death, and Care, 
While secret gladness thrilled each grisly 

frame. 
Then Death flung down a dart and journeyed 

on. 
But Care and Time smiled when they saw the 

wan 
Fair form, where Love, too late repentant 

prayed 
In tearful silence. She but leaned and laid 
On his mute lips a leaf of willow-blade ; — 
"Sleep sweet," she said, "More potent is my 

spell 
Than Time, or Death ! It was thy fate. Fare- 
well ! " H. 8. C. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 10I 



NIAGARA. 

The firm earth vibrates to thy tumbliug flood ! 
From out the secret chambers of the deep, 
The rumbhng voices of thy waters keep, 

With everlasting roar and awful mood, 

Triumphant anthems to the God of good ! 
Thy fearful course down the abysmal steep, 
Affrights me, as thou tak'st thy final leap ! 

Upon the beetling cliffs that girt thy brink, 

O'erawed, in pensive mood, the soul must 
tliink 

Of kings, and purpled potentates of earth ; 

How mean they seem, beside thy awful birth ! 

Connecting-link thou art 'twixt heaven and 
earth ! 
How dwarfed are all ! how volatile and 

vain — 
The sportive streams that seek the heaving 



MEMORY HAUNTED. 

I AM haunted, daily haunted, 

By the memory of a face 
Wearing smiles that robbed the sunshine 

Of its most bewitching grace — 
By a voice that thrills me strangely, 

And the glow of sunny eyes, 
That had caught the gleam' of brooklets. 

And the blue of summer skies. 
It may be a subtle fancy — 

It may be a fitful dream. 
Like as flash the running ripples. 

On some sunUt, shining stream : 



302 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Yes, somewhere I sure have seen it, 

Tliis mysterious, mimic face, 
And its image, still I dream it. 

Visions of seraphic grace. 

I am haitnted, nightly haunted, 

By a memory so sweet. 
Of the touch of hands like lilies. 

And the tread of fairy feet ! 
By those eyes, brown and resplendent, 

By that wealth of nut-brown hair. 
By that look, so pure and saintly, 

And thy sweet, unconscious air : 
It has stirred me with such pain, 

That my aching heart has bled — 
And I seem to hear again 

Voices of the loved, long dead, 

Leaving me uucomforted. 
Little hands, yoiir work is over ; 

Fairy feet, yoiu- toil is done : 
Sweet, bright life, yonr mission ended 

With its moraing just begun. 

1 am haunted, weirdly haunted, 

By the dripping of the rain. 
Waking mournful, dirge-like music, 

And a requiem its refrain : 
I am haunted by the rustling 

Of the leaves about my door, 
And a ceaseless, low-voiced murmur, 
" She 's a saint on heaven's shore." 
Still her face is ever near me, 

Let me wander where I will. 
And her brown hair floats around me. 

And her brown eyes haunt me still ; 
Now her form is winging nearer. 

And it seems some saintly shrine. 
Shining brighter, beaming clearer 

With its seraph face divine. l. g. r. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 303 



ARAB JOE. 

A LYRIC OF THE STREET. 

TfiR north wind drives the snow and sleet 
About December's breast to-night : 
The grim clouds blot the stars f I'om sight, 

And scarce a soul is in the street. 

The midnight chimes ring out the strain 
Of ever-dulcet "Home, Sweet Home," 
And through the melancholy gloam 

Strange echoes bear the loved refrain. 

Yon stately mansion's blazing light 
Gleams sunlike from the open hal', 
And waves of music rise and fall 

Where dancers lightly mark time's flight. 

And there a street-waif — Arab Joe — 

Starved, homeless offspring of the town, 
Has found the scene and nestled down 

Near to the melody and glow. 

Perchance the gladsome notes can cause 

The hapless outcast to forget 

The miseries that him beset, 
The icy storm, the want that gnaws. 

Mayhap he sleeps, and mayhap dreams 
Of warmth, and food, and shelter — there, 
Within the shelter of the stair ; 

But how like death his slumber seems ! 



304 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Heed ye, more blest, -what passing straits, 
Want's wretched victims have to bear ! 
Have ye for earth's forlorn a care ? 

Help ye the suffering at your gate ? 

But, see — within a change has come : 
The tripping feet are still at last : 
The dance is done ; the feast is past : 

The weary band plays "Home, Sweet Home. 

In furs and costly mantles c'ad, 
Their farewells said, the guests depart : 
Home is the theme of every heart. 

But who shall say that none are sad ? 

And yonder, Arab Joe remains : 
Why lingers he ? — the revel o'er ? 
Or, does he rest ? Yea, evermore, 

Freed from all earthly needs and pains. 

There, hiding from the winter blast. 
Upon the threshhold of his sire. 
Did OTitcast Arab Joe expire. 

God grant he has a home at last ! 

OSCAR H. HARPEL. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 305 



SEPTEMBER. 

Summer is past ; and now with bounteous 

cheer 
Sobered September speeds the waning Year 
"With benedictions and farewells of peace, 
WhUe his brown arms are filled with earth's 

increase. 

In yonder fields are ranged the shining sheaves ; 
From chestnut groves the ripe nut rattles 

down, 
And rusted foliage shows in scarlet-brown. 
And where the whirring partridge flies, 
The sportsman seeks his feathered prize : 
The harvest moon resumes her nightly reign, 
And casts her tender radiance o'er the plain ; 
And swallows southward steer their flighs once 

more. 
As on fleet wings to warmer climes they soar : 
Bright sunlight gilds the distant hills, 
And with soft sheen the vista fills, 
While from the orchard's swaying top, 
The red-cheeked apples laugh and drop ; 
Along the lanes of golden grain. 
The farmer drives his rattling wain ; 
And far along the yellow glades. 
Is heard the ring of sickle-blades ! 
Oh, sweet and sweet, 
Is the song of the wheat ! 
As it floats on the cool breeze all day long, 
In a musical ripple of silver song ! 
39 



306 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

The groves are filled with fallen leaves, 
The swallows leave thek plastered eaves ; 

And hush, oh hark ! 
In the dry leaves the locust stir 
The evening with his tireless whirr— 

And vocalizing all the dark ! 

How sweet to roam at close of day, 

Along some wild sequestered way, 

Some pasture path or upland walk, 

A n 1 with some cheerful friend to talk, 

Or watch the faint auroras play 

On the world's margin far away, 

Or muse beside some rocky stream, 

Absorbed in some poetic dream, 

Or mark the large moon's lucent beam 

Touch the glad waves with dancing gleam I 

Or roam some unfrequented strand, 

Writing sonnets on the sand, 

Lost in a sad love reverie 

By the margin of the sea ! 

Though other months more glad to some may 



And longer days more charms to them 
unfold, 
Subdued September fills my fancy's dream 
With mists and azures and an air of gold ! 

L. G. R. 



WAITING. 

Oh, aught would do for dim to-morrow, 
Wert thou but only here this night ! 

And I could smile at future sorrow, 
Could now thy presence bless my sight* 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 307 

For like some sad, imprisoned starling, 
Lamenting for her woodland mate ; 

I could not chide thee now, my darling, 
Since love, like sleep, is sweetest late ! 

The morning-stars have quenched their cau- 
dles ; 

The wasted moon sleeps cold and gray ; 
And softly in her gleaming sandals, 

Approaches beautiful, yovmg Day! 

And yet I cannot close the shutter. 
And like the stars seem calm and cold ; 

While my faint pulses throb and flutter, 
And young Love longing, waxeth old. 

Oh, could thy presence bless the night 
As Planets shed their silver power ; 

I could endure an age of slight, 
If thou wert with me this sweet hour ! 

Still must I nurse a bitter sorrow. 
Exiled from sleep, till dawn upspring, 

With the long miseries of to-morrow, 
Which only blight to me may bi'ing ! 

For morn brings love-hght to faint roses, 

And happiness to bird and bee ; 
Yet to my weary heart discloses 

No joy unless it bringeth thee ! 

For now the whippoorwill in the garden, 

Talks wooingly unto his mate. 
As if he sued for love's sweet pardon — 

Will he ask mine for being late ? 

Yet needless were his imploration ! 

Love must grant all for her dear sake ; 
Forgiving, without supplication — 

Although for love a heart must break ! 

OSCAR F. HEWIT'. 



3oS MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



A BALLAD OF SUNSETS. 

8tRANGE is the way that the night comes 

do\fn, 
Into the valley and into the town — 
A cup of sable, star-impearled, 
Whose concave holds just half the world : 
A sleeping-cap the world puts on 
At sunset, doffs at dawn. 

Dazzlingly distant, the west window-pane 
Shimmers with sheets of a ruby-red rain, 
And dropi>eth the sun— disc of porphyry he ! — 
Just over the hilltops, into the sea : 
Into an ocean of purple that whirls 

Westerly on as the world rolls round : 
Into a porphyry ocean that swirls, 
And recedes to the west as the world rolls 
round : 
Sinking, sinking, so full and bold, 
Like a world of shining gold. 
Just for an instant or so hanging quite 
Low in the west, and then dropped out of 
sight — 
Sinking like an embodied day, 
Seeming not half a mile away. 

Weird is the way that the night comes down, 
Into the valley and into the town. 

Just over the hilltops, in the valleys doth roll 

A ruby-red river of girasole : 
It sinketh, it swelleth in golden motion, 
Like a river of gold to a golden ocean. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 309 

As the sun, just dropped into it, softens, melts, 

merges. 
Into its tossing and porphyry surges — 
Sinking as if it were somehow a day, 
SoUdly wound in a ball, not a stray 
Beamlet omitted, to be put away 
And locked up for the night in a curious 

casket, 
Or, like Monseigneur's head, carried off in a 

basket, 
Dripping red sun-blood in nebulous rills 
Over the purple and woodlanded hills, 
Be3'ond which, this moment just dimly in sight, 
Loom the grim, grue, and terrible gates of the 

nisrht. 



Restfully, softly, doth night come down. 
Into the valley and into the town. 

Easterly tree-trunks : beyond them the moon. 
Yellow and full as the sun is at noon, 
Suddenly, luridly, flames on the ken 
Of drowsy and droning humanity : then, 
Ghostlily golden, it maketh its rise, 

Like the dream of Paradise, 
Tinging the rhymes of the bulbul of soul, 
Hafiz of Iran, the land of the ghoul, 
That, through sj'mbols of lilies, vahistas and 

cedars, 
Suddenly breaks on the fancy of readers. 

Beautiful music, as night comes down, 
Stirs in all creatures in valley and town : 
Comes up from birds and running streams, 
And thrills thee thi-ough, sweet love, in 
dieams. 



Tinkingly seaward the rivulet creeps, 
Windingly wayward, in shallows and deeps 



3 to MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Under the shaky and time-shattered bridge, 
Over the weary and water-worn ledge, 
Shpping with lambent and monologue laughter, 
That, once heard in the night, a man hears 

ever after, 
Lingering here just to purl roiiud a pebble, 
With a kmd of a loving and tremulous treble, 
Thrilliig the low-hanging alder it wets, 
With a music that somehow it never forgets. 
And down under the wil.ow, away in the glen, 
Hid from the pitiless tumult of men, 
Crieth the sorrowful-songed whippoorwill — 
Canst tell me, O night-wind, who doeth him 

ill? 
Or whether his quaint, somewhat querulous 

croon 
Interprets mere longing to visit the moon ? 

Mystical fancies, as night comes down. 
Troop in weird armies through valley and 
town. 



Star after star, with a motionless motion. 
That stirs not, yet stirs, on its amethyst ocean, 
Each an elf-built boat, with an elf-lit light 
Hung at its bow like a ship's in the night, 
Swinging, swinging — it seemeth so — 
Ever and drowsily to and fro, 
Suddenly looms on the low zodiac, 
Leaving no ripple, no wave, in its track 
Into the hazy and passionate skies, 
Into the blue that they say never dies. 
Lighted their flambeaux,' strange Argonauts, 

they 
Circumnavigate night for the golden fleece, 

day. 
And in quaint vessels, quaint wrought and 

impearled, 
Pursue it round and round the world. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 3II 

Fantastic fancies, as night comes down, 
Flit in battalions through valley and town : 
They stir the curtains, safely pinned, 
Youiiear them — think it is the ^nnd. 

Dozily, drowsily, stealeth the dark 

Through the air in a shadowy barque. 

Strewing sweet dreams as it slips along. 

Sprays of fancy, whiffs of song : 

In a shadowy barque, with a shadowy oar. 

Put off but late from the mystical shore 

Of the East, at whose low, lone, leviathan 

pier 
Rock vessels of pattern nobody builds here^ 
Singular hulks one can almost see through, 
Spectie-commanded, with shadowy crew. 
I see it in fancy — a city that lies on 
The uttermost wave of the slumbrous horizon. 
With docks of vague columns, houses that 

seem 
Like the vasty cathedrals one builds in a 

dream ; 
Biit perhaps, after all, as has happened before. 
It is but a fog-bank I mistake for a shore, 
And it may be the masts that my inner eye 

sees 
Are only transmuted from actual trees. 

Bl^/stical dreams, as the night comes down, 
Lurk in all crannies in valley and town, 
Strewn from this vessel, sails unfurled, 
That nightly journeys round the world. 

The noiseless engines tug and pull. 
The spectral sails with wind are full ; 
And I fancy I hear the regular dip 
Of the paddle-wheels stirring the shadowy 
ship, 



312 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Strewing all night, it seems, 
The slumbrous world with dreams. 
Its vasty cabins seem alight. 
As west it toileth through the night : 
Dreams by the handful sow the men, 
Then turn and till their hands again : 
Its captain, hopeless Arganaut, 
His golden fleece has never caught, 
And, like to man, shall never find 
The dim Utopia in his mind, 
Which, like to man's, f orevermore, 
Dimly in sight, flits on before. 

Falling, falhng o'er woodlands, and 

Dropping down like a fairyland, 

Falling, falling in soft moonbeams. 

Dropping down in dreams — 

This is the way that the night comes down 

Into the valley and into the town : 

A band of slumber, star-impearled, 

That follows day-light round the world. 

Sweet sleep, my love ! O wheels that softly dip, 

Disturb her not ! Di'op dreams of me, O Ship ! 

FRANCIS GERRY FAIRFIELD. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 313 



THE LILY OF THE VALLEY, 



Sweet flower, that 'neath the friendly haw- 
thorn blows. 
With bending cup all decked in virgin 
white. 
Beneath the sheltering leaf thy beauty glows, 
And modestly thou shunn'st the glare of 
light 

True emblem of a lovely maiden's mind, 
Whose every smile the Graces mild adorn ; 

Sheltered by modesty from life's rude wind, 
She charms as blossoms of the hanging 
thorn. 



The loud, rough blasts that whistle through 
the sky, 
May tear the flower that seeks the sun's 
embrace ; 
But safe beneath the green leaf thou dost lie, 
And in the shrouding foliage hid'st thy face. 

So man, who braves the stormy gales of Ufe, 
And bares his breast to fortune's piercing 
blow. 
And launches forth on frowning seas of strife, 
A haven of sweet rest shall surely know. 

L. G. R. 
40 



3^4 lltlS?ELl,Al«R©V§ ^OEWS. 



FRIENDSHIP PURE AS GOLD. 

TO KMMP. T. T. MlNeFIIJfcB. 

TftRfair* frail flowery, which loyed the 8U»,v 

Grew faint at touch of cold, 
Aud, chilled and pale, drooped one by ome* 

IqW Deatli's duet and mold. 

But here, where down the forest walks 

The sere, leaf whirls., and beats. 
One rose looks through the bare, brown .stfdj^. 

And charms the air with sweety, 

As one brave heart, when all the truth 

On earth seemed dim or lost, 
Still k^t the faith and Qxe of youth, 

And smiled in spite of frost I 

The heart a garden is of flowei»» 

That spring to endless life ; 
With oaie we watch its rosy bowecs^ 

And weed the shoots of strife. 

And loving words are easy said. 
And kinder seems whate'er is said, 

Ift JheartefbftJoyiog too, 
Th<» fo4id«f the thoughts of yoa. 

Ah, though the friend*! once held dear, 

Are fickle, false, or cold, 
I need not grieve while thou art near, 

With friendship pure as gold. 



Sweet was thy friendship, friend of mine, 

In hours of lonehness ; 
Thy friendship was no empty sign — 

It came to cheer lind bliess. 

And now, when dther years havfe floWn, 

Of mortal's brief estate, 
Love will reward thee with thine own. 

And Peace for tibee ahall Wftit ! l. G; s. 



FREEDOM'S SONS. 

Freedom's sons ! while je inherit 

Priceless gifts, bequeathed in blood, 
From the times of men of merit — 

Crimsoned in war's gory flood ! — 
Yet remember, you may gather 

From their deeds but- empty fame, 
If their undegenerate spirit 

Bums not in your breast the same. 

Hero Fathers ! — brave Deliverers ! — 

In our helplessness to save. 
Ye your mighty arm uplifted, 

O'er the land and o'er the waive ! 
England's arm of power was broken — 

Sundered the oppressors' chain ; 
Softly e'er thy nttmeft be spoken— 

Golden letters tell thy fame ! 

Washington ! the great Immortal !— 

Patriot Parent — good as wise ! 
Look thou out from Heaven's portal, 

From thy palace ih the skies ^ 
Hear us hymn, in glcJwing numbet^. 

Of the Sons of Freedom's Birth ; 
While w6 rousei the world from slumbers, 

With gfad paeahs of their WOtth. L. (J. B. 



3r6 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS^ 



OUR E^ELY FKIENDS. 

Haw sweet to have our early friends 

Keep gentle, fond and true ; 
Better to cling to one old friend, 

Than find a dozen new i 
Oui- early friends, if fiew and far, 

Can bless our hearts much more 
Than newer friends, if true they are 

Till life's brief day is o'er. 

Our early friends to us express 

The happiness they feel, 
And only hide the bitterness 

They tremble to reveal : 
The hjly sympathy they leave 

Our anxious thoughts employ j 
I 'd rather weep with those I love, 

Than share a stranger's joy. 

In the grand ages yet to be, 

Where faith find's sweet repose, 
Fond friendship in full constancy 

Shall blossom as the rose ! 
Oh, who would live for self alone, 

Or for one's own sweet will ? 
A heart congenial to our own. 

All aching voids must fill ! 

Our early friends are always best ; 

They shared our morning days— 
Their welcomes ever sweetly f aU — 

We love their words of praise ! 
For fame is but a scentless flower, 

Though it be crowned with gold ; 
But friendship, like the sweetest rose, 

Hides perfume in each fold. l. g. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 317 



CONTENTMENT. 

Whenk'er I cast my eyes, around, 

And view New England's fertile ground, 

I bless her sacred shore, 
Where happiness forever reigns, 
And plenty crowns her teeming plains. 

And pours her bounteous store. 

No discord here divides the State ! 
The sons of faction and of hate 

Ai-e far from hence removed ! 
Fair Liberty her standard rears. 
And as she views departing years, 

Records the theme she loved. 

Here let me ever hope to live. 
Contented with what Jleaven may give. 

And gratefully receive ; 
And be my portion e'er so small, 
I '11 ne'er repine, nor grasp at all. 

Nor at life's fortunes grieve. 

With Peace I'll dwell — and court her still, 
And ne'er arraign the Sovereign will. 

Or question aught of Heaven, 
But bless each bright or gloomy day, 
And walk in Reason's chosen way. 

Accepting what is given. 

And when old age, with feeblt hand, 
Bids me prepare to view the land 

Where Truth eternal reigns. 
May I in conscious virtue trust. 
When dust shall be consigned to dust, 

Till Gabriel's trump proclaims : 



5i8 uis<aM.L^3rw&us^t'&EU9. 

"Arise, ye rigLteous ! all is bright ; 
Ascend into celestial light, 

Shake off your earthly clod ! 
On earth you Uved in blamfeleteft love — 
Receive the crown prepared above, 

And praise &e righteous' God ! " 

L. G. R. 



' ' AKD &AG AR WEtTT. " 

The bitter t^aY in H&gax's eye, 
As o'er her dying child she knelt. 

In silent, speechless agony. 
Told what the anxious mother felt 

An! when she softly breathed a prayer— 
Her weeping eye upraised to Heaven — 

How plain the anguish pictured there. 
Showed how the mother's heart was riven ! 

But when thone strong, sweet accents fell. 
Of angel voice, " Thy son shall live ! " 

Could any tongue but seraph's tell 
The joy that bade her heart revive ? 

Oh. there is something in the tear 
That dims a mother i> tender eye — 

A charm so fraught with love, so dear. 
We weep — we know not, care not why ! 

And if a spark was ever^iven 
To mortals, from the fires iabove — 

If e'er a flower that bloomed in Heaven, 
It is a mother's lasting love. l. gk a. 



MiSGS&LANlS&US POeM& 519; 



JUJUIUS PBi^TT* 

He has gone to tliftt haveo of sanotiiied reetT— . 
That. Par^yiise, fairer than Eden's freph 
bloom,^ 
Sweet be his sleep on the good Father's br^wt, 
While soft seraph choirs in welcome the guest 
With ant^ms.so sweet sung in softest at- 
tune. 

Our love it was deep— but, till taken away 
We knew net how twider and true was that 
love! 
God willed his swei^eoul no longer «houl<| 

stay 
Out of the kingdom of Rest, far away! 
So Christ folded him m jbis arms above.' 

Then cease we to mourn : our lose is his gain! 
And though on earth we shall greet him no 
more. 
This lesson of /aith shall lessen our pain- 
Though iwscend^d from earth, we shall : vag&tr 
him. again 
Where loye and rejoicing shajl reign -e^r^- 
emK»?er! L.0.IU. 

* Died 4^^g»afc,80i 186a 



320 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



THte LYRIC PASSION. 

From the strange Ija-e of the heart, 

Upon whose strings the Passions play, 
The Poet gains the brighter part 

Of hfe's Hiinshiny day. 
The Lyric Passion is the dream — 

The silver cloud on which he flies ; 
And mounting to a Realm supreme, 

It lifts him to the pageant skies. 

Bright Poesy— thou dazzling flame — 

A shadow from God's blazing eye ! 
To mortal man from Heaven came, 

To smile upon his destiny ! 
How much we owe thee. Saintly Guest ! 

Forgetful of thy high estate. 
Thou wak'st the lyre within the breast. 

And tunest its chords to human fate. 



Oh harp, let me but touch thy string ! 

Thy magic notes I long to hear ; 
And let thy gentle cadence fling 

Its melting murmurs on my ear I 
But bid the strains be soft and deep, 

Nor let but notes of joy be heard, 
For I am sad, and fain would weep — 

Or mourn like some neglected bird. 

L. G. R. 



RtrSCELLANEOtJS POBMS. 32 1 



EVENING. 

The lucent Moon, like some fair queen comes 

forth 
With all her retinue of glittering stars, 
And holds dominion in the fields of Heaven. 
How boundless is the majesty and power 
Of which they speak, with eloquence aa deep 
As if the lyres of choral seraphim 
Resounded in the everlasting blue 
Of Heaven's concave ! Nature, now how 

grand. 
With beauties manifold that flood the mind, 
QUI man, perplexed with awe and wonderment, 
Yearns for a seraph's power to fluctuate 
And thrill with music aU the hallowed air t 



Yet soft and sweetly nature whispers now 
Her sacred benedictions o'er the world. 
O sweet, O solemn hour to holy thought^ j 
To revery and imagination dear ! 
For the ideal world of fairy forms 
Engages fancy, and the poet holds 
Communion with them, and his soul is free ! 
So on ^tnean altitudes, when viewed 
By some poor captive, freed from dungeon 

glooms. 
Night seems the various beauties of the earth. 
For these are hours which, like the beacon 

fires, 
That blaze on promontory headlands rude. 
Or stars that guide us on our mortal course 
Along our voyage to the end of time ! 

For now the ambient air seems populous 
With bright IntelUgences, viewless, fair. 
That breathe in heavenly music, as from haJCPS 

41 J if^fklj 



322 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Stolen from Eden's Garden, ere deceit 

And sin had banished from man's poor estate 

Belief in these sweet ministers of love ! 

flowers of hope in the wide fields of heaven ! 
Ye bright and burning stars ! To him who 

called 
Your everlasting splendor out of night, 
Pour down upon me thy chaste, holy dew, 
While here upon a bank of sleeping flowera, 

1 lift my soul to the eternal God ! 

L. G. R. 



MOTHER 

Not one word of human diction 

Is more eloquently dear, 
Than that name in every household 

So familiar to the ear. 
'T is a title taught by angels. 

As they guard each mortal birth. 
To express the tie of kindred 

Heaven hallowed here on earth. 

Often has my spirit striven 

Since its worldly march began, 
To renew its child emotions 

In the bosom of the man ; 
But lif e'» cold^ unfriendly shadows 

Aye TepeVed the dear delight, 
Till my mothei''9 voice recalled it 

As in happy boyhood bright. 

When I gaze along the vista 

Of a changeful chain of years, 
I behold her love-hght teaming 

Through their days of joys and tears ; 
And when now my heart is saddest, 

None like her can aoothe its grief ; 
E'en the handtouch of my mother 

Gives to every pain relief. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 323 

Mates of hers are growing age d. 

But she is not old to me : 
Every winsome way is with her 

That I knew in infancy. 
Airy shapes that sometimes hover 

Round my pillow where I rest, 
Softly whisper, " Love thy mother— 

JFriend the truest, fondest, best ; " 

O.SCAR U. HABPEL. 



OCTOBER DAYS. 

Once more October's lapse of Joveliness is 
here. 
Again its gentle glories captivate the gaze,. 
Though riper tints displace the earUer vernal 
cheer. 
And gray and fallow fields proclaim the Au- 
tumn days. 

Yet in the balmy air a breath of Summer 
lives, 
And low-toned cadences harmoniously vi- 
brate, 
As if the gentle hours that young October 
gives. 
Thus sweetly breathe a hymn of thanks to 
heaven's gate. 

The pathways are bestrewn with brown and 
russet leaves. 
That seem as Nature's sighs as one bv one 
they fall, ^ 

While o'er the charmed scenes a dreamful 
languor weaves 
A beatific peace that beautifies them all. 



324 aflSCELLAHTEOtTS POEMS. 

Adown the valley standing in their liagged 
pride, 
The corn-blades rustle voicelike, as the 
breezes blow, 
And there the vineyard clusters, dusky-purple 
dyed, 
Beck to the rippling brook that winds its 
way below. 

Out in the orchard where the noisy blue-jay 
sings. 
The tempting pippins hang, hke globes of 
virgin gold, 
While just beyond, the cider-press its rude 
beam swings, 
Outcrushing nectar fit to pledge the gods of 
old. 

And yonder, where the swift-wing'd yellow 
hammer flies. 
Mottled with garish hues that mingle mani- 
fold, 
In grand array the antlered forest-trees up- 
rise 
Like giant registers that mark how time 
hath rolled. 

Behold the farmer's children, jubilant with 
health. 
All lithe of limb and heart, are bent on 
nutting joys. 
Well knowing where the fruitful walnut drops 
its wealth — 
Glad, rosy httle maids, and boisterous, 
merry boys. 

Within the hazel copse the startled rabbit 
springs ; 
From yonder oak the squirrel barks defiance 
bold; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 335 

And yonder beeches stay the flight of pigeon's 
wings ; 
And, hark ! the pheasant drums within the 
tangled wold. 

Across the stubble-fields the eager hunters 
P-od, 
To flush the covey's hiding from impending 
ill ; 
Down by the river's sedgy margin with his 
rod, 
See there the patient angler plies Waltonic 
skill ! 

Yon busy mill-wheel tells of bounteous har- 
vest gains, 
But ere while yielded to the worthy miller's 
care, 
Who strives for homely praise, with earnest, 
honest pains, 
To make the flaky meal that keeps his fame 
so fair. 

Thus might mine eyes unsated scan the wid- 
ening view ; 
Thus might my thoughts depict what makes 
October dear. 
Whose garnered treasures, yielding more than 
what is due, 
Aye makes it to my heart the crown-month 
of the year. 

Ah, me, would that when comes our mortal 
Autumn time. 
We might review it wreathed with ming'ed 
fruits and bays, 
And though life's Spring be fled, and spent 
its Summer prime, 
Its ending might be sweet as soft October 
days. 

OSCAR n. HAEPEL. 



326 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



COLD, COLD IS THE HEART. 

C 'i.n, cold is the heart 
That hath ne'er felt the dart 

Of Love's electric power — 
That hath never been stirred 
By a soft spoken word 

In some fair maiden's bower. 

Cold, cold is the breast 
That hath never conf est 

Love's influence, sweet and divine ; 
Let those be without 
Whom its purity doubt, 

And never have knelt at its shrine. 

Dark, dark is the mind, 
Where Love lies not enshrined. 

Which no earthly force can move ; 
Other pleasures all flown. 
Other joj's I 'd disown. 

Rather thaii live without Love ! 

L. G. R. 



epigram:. 

For thee, sweet maid, so fair and young, 

Each bosom heaves a stgh ; 
Thy praises fall from every tongue, 

And tears fill every eye. 

Thy name still lives as e'er the same. 

While envy shall decay, 
For she hath nothing to proclaim, 

And folly naught to say. l. o. b. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 327 



SILENCE IS ALWAYS GOLDEN. 

If a shrew should be your wife, 

With temper bad and passion strong, 
And you would shun the way of strife, 

And peacefully would glide along, 
Pause ere you hurl sharp darts at her. 

When rage with words your tongue embold- 
en— 
Remember, though speech be silver. 

Silence is always golden ! 

If your wife is out of sorts, 

A nd is spoiling for a brew. 
Don't be lavish of retorts — 

One can't quarrel — it takes two ! 
Don't reply — and don't reproach her — 

(For this hint you are beholden) — 
Though speech is sometimes silver. 

Silence is always golden ! 1.. g. r. 



NIGHT. 



Now 'tis night's bewitching hour ! 

My taper flickers as it bums ! 
How my weary heart is aching — 

How for death my spirit yearns ! 
Is this life, this soulful sadness — 
Anguish near akin to madness ? 

Hark and hear the wild storm raging ! 

No^ the gale is shrieking loud ! 
List the frantic spirits wailing ! 

Death is weaving them a ehroud ! 
All without is dark and dreary — 
All within is worn and weary. 



3iS MISCELLANEOUS POEMS4 

What a lonely, solemn hour! 

And the dark, how dread and deep ! 
Olden memories now seem stealing 

O'er me, while I wildly weep ! 
Must I Sorrow's guest remain ? 
Shall I never smile again ? l. g. k. 



FLING OUT THE STARRY BANNER. 

Fling out the Starry Banner, 

And let it proudly wave. 
Till it shall tioat o'er every clime. 

The standard of the brave ! - 
Til', like a meteor flashing far, 

It bursts with glorioias light, 
And with its heaven-born rays dispel 

The gloom of darkest night. 

Fling out the Stariy Banner, 

On every swelling breeze, 
And let its folds wave o'er the land, 

And o'er the raging seas. 
Till all beneath the standard sheet. 

With new allegiance bow, 
And pledge themselves to onward bear 

The emblem of then- vow. 



Fling out the Starry Banner, 

And let it not be furled 
Till, like a comet of the skies, 

It sweeps around the world ! 
And never from its guardian hight, 

Let it by man be driven. 
But let it float m radiant light, 

Beneath the dome of heaven. l. g. 
[1«53.] 



oifT 



IttSCBLLANEOUS POEMS. 329 



THE KALEIDOSCOPE. 

Turn the Kaleidoscope, Time ! 
On a weary journey you long have been, 
Shadowy showman, bent and thin — 
Showman of Shadows 1 paus« you here. 
And set on its legs your queer machuie — 
Your crystalline, panoramic sphere— 
A duplicate, counterfeit creation — 
A microcosm, 'tis said, wherein 
The shifting events of the rolling world. 
Are shaken, re-formed, confused and whirled. 
In a never-ending permutation ! 

For joys fly upward and grief descends, . 
In wrecked ambition or flight of friends, 
Losses of station and dreams of bliss 
That dazzle and cheat us ; Life is this ! — 
Till shaken in faith, and robbed of hope. 
The planets themselves, to our mortal scope. 
Seem only to topple, and flare, and reel. 
Like glints and shards in the mighty wheel 
Of God's enormous Kaleidoscope, 
Where rains of meteors that affright 
The pallid satellites of the night, 
And red auroras, flickering far. 
Like Scandinavian ghosts at war. 
Horrent with lightning javelins seem 
Like the weird mirage of a demon's dream, — 
Till torn asunder by bolts of thunder, 
And irresistable whirlwind- spasms. 
Luridly through cloud-rifted chasms 
They flash and fade, while we fear and wonder, 
In a dazed, Tertiginous, speechless spell 
As a soul looks ia through the grates of hell ! 
42 



330 MISCELLANEOUS PO£MS. 

So turn the Kaleidoscope, Time ! 
Let us see what you have to reveal ! 
Tell me first, pray, what are those tinsel things, 
To each of which a parasite clings, 
And flutters his vain, gilt, gossamer wings, 

Up there in the top of the wheel ? 

"Look again! though they seem as if never 

to fall, 
There are treacherous quicksands under them 

all! 
If I touch them now with the sUghtest shake, 
See how they tremble, and reel and quake ! 
If I give them one revolution more. 
They tumble, behold you ! by the score, 
And shde on the blood-red, shppery slope 
That you see in my World-Kaleidoscope, 
Vascillant, tottering, down they go, 
As I turn so steady and slow. 
Dragging to death those frightened drones. 
Would any one guess they were emperors' 

thrones ? " 

Turn the Kaleidoscope, Time ! 

This is curious sport for me ! 
Steady, good Gaffer, steady and slow ; 
I have lain so long in an idle trance. 
And the world, they say, is so much in ad- 
vance, 
I have missed a step in the century-ds-nce ; 
And the singxilar sights are so many, you 

know. 
To be seen in your grand, cosmoramical show. 

One wants a good chance to see ! 

Turn the Kaleidoscope, Time ! 
What is here ? a rain of blood ? 
"No, rubies! that range of their own ac- 
cord, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 331 

Into one burning, immortal Avorcl — 
It is LiBEKTV ! " That is good ! 

* 'Yes, Liberty, equal for all and each, 
Liberal thought, unhindered speech. 
As far as the reason of man may reach ! 
For the world is old and drowsy, and needs 
Something to hft her out of the weeds 
Of cant and custom, and make her free ! 
New thoughts to kindle and vivify her. 
With shocks electric and thunder-fire ! 
Something to thrill, and shake her, and wake 

her 
Out of her dead, dumb lethargy ! 

Turn the Kaleidoscope, Time ! 
"Passage of seasons, revolving years 
Kising and setting of rolling spheres, 
Waking from death of vernal flowers, 
Increscence, and waning of circling moons — 
Butterflies bursting theii" sliroiid-cocoons, 
To soar on their silken fans away. 
In the light of their resurrection day — 
Everyth ng in this world of ours. 
Are types of a glory yet to be— 
Suggestions of immortality ;— 
And whirl in the gyres of God and spin, 
To bring the perfect creation in — 
The (i olden Period, long foretold. 
By prophet-poets and seers of old — 
Through cycles of progress manifold ! " 

Turn the Kaleidoscope, Time ! 
For there flits in your glass the strange dis- 
play, 
And flickering flames of Autot dn-Fe, 
Mingled with dungeon-rings and gags. 
Sanctified masks, rose-watered rags. 

And a few brown bones of a saint ! 



332 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

"Souvenirs these of a coming day, 
When superrttition shall pass away, 
And no more the bigot's frenzied scream 
Shall startle the maiden's peaceful dream, 
Nor the innocent mind of the child be cram- 
med 
"With gibbering spectres of the damned ; 
But reason released from age-long thrall. 
Find the love of Christ sufficient for all. 
See, this is a broken crosier, and these 
The skull-shaped beads of rosaries, — 
Eeligion at ease ! as in Thibet-Land, 
Where they turn a windlass and pray by hand ! 
Pagoda tinkle of bells o'erhead, 
In the porch a heretic lying dead. 
But they never do such things now, you know, 
For this was in ages long ago ! " 

Turn the Kaleidoscope, Time ! 

A forest of dancing plumes 
Now in the glittering wheel appears — 
Ah me ! but these are magnificent hues ! 
Splendid prism-itic dissolving views. 
Of broken sabres, red-rusted spears, 
Torches, and (^lasjxnl hands and tears. 
With mixture of victories anl defeats, 
And battered cities and Hha:.; u-ed fleets. 

And fiery-furrowed glooms ! 

"Belies of old tyrannical wars, 
Fought in eclipse of the morning stars, 
But where the Right at length prevailed, 
Though long confounded and sore-assailed, 
For man but sees the beginning of things, 
Yet to and fro the pendulum swings 
Of the mighty chroQometer of time, 
llirough the measureless arc of a sweep sub- 
lime : 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 333 

And ticking the centuries, slowly bringu, 
In splendors that break o'er eternity's sea, 
The perfect ages that are to be — 
When shall aawn in my World-Kaleidoscope, 
The glory of peace and Christian hope ! " 



FROST. 

The barns resound with jocund flails, 
'\ hile high the flying chaff is tossed ; 

And over moorlands glad with quails, 
Comes the magician— Frost ! 

Now through the dry, wind-shaken copse. 
The ripened chestnut rattles down ; 

And bannered bright are woe dland tops. 
And slopes with sheaves are brown. 

In the clear mirror of the lake, 
Reflected shines the scarlet brier ; 

And glows above the russet brake, 
The sumach's plumes of fire ! 

By wayside walls, moss-growm and old; 

The Frost-grapes glisten on the vine, 
While Avizard-like, the epicure 

Turns the blue air to wine ! 

He treads the fields with silent feet 
That print themselves in red and gold, 

And with a silver winding-sheet 
Drapes the wide dj-ing wold. 



^34 MISC£i>LAl<rEOtJd J'OEMS. 

So in the cool — the silent hours , 
When sails the moon the npper main, 

He pencils fairy ferns and fiowcra 
On the iln mined pane. 



He times the streams to anthems low, 

And on his rosary of reeds 
For the dead Lands, congealing s'ow, 

Prays with his frozen beads ! 

D. HENRY WALKER. 



AH WHY, SAD HEART ! 

Ah why, sad heart ! why dost thou thrill 

So wildly in this aching breast ? 
Is there no fount of joy to still 

Thy throbbing pulse in tranquil rest ? 

Comes there no thought of acme dear one 
To tune thy chords to life again ? 

Art thou, sad heart, left al^ alone 
With gloomy thoughts of grief and pain ? 

Has Hope no love-glance bright for thee. 
To cheer the lone path thou must tread ? — 

No glimpse of one whose love shall be 
A crown of glory to thy head ? 

Hast Memory set no star to shine 

Athwart the vista of the Past — 
Visions of joy that once were thine, 

Which faded, for they could not las ? 

Ah me, sad heart ! thou throbbest j'et, 
As by a weight of grief opprcst ! 

And many suns shallrise and set 
Ere thou shalt find a perfect rest. l. o. b. 



MISCELLANEOUS PQ£MS. 335 



A PSYCHOLOGIOAL POEM. 

Like the plant beside its b'ossom, 

Or the moon beside its star, 
Sat a mother with her darling 

Boy, whose eyes were black as tar ! 

Said she, "James, you ask how differ 

Soul and body ;— what I here 
Touch, is body ;— but there 's something 

Still within- what is it, dear ? " 

With eyes luminous with the dawning 

Of deep intellect, the pert 
Child exultingly responded : 

"Why, ma, that's my flannel shirt ! " 

L. a. R. 



ASAPH MERRIAM* 

O HOVORED, beloved, to earth unconfined. 
Thou hast soared on high, thou hast left us 
behind— 
But our parting is not forever ! 

We wiil follow thee by Heaven's sure light, 
Where the grave cannot dissever 
The pure souls God unites forever ! 

L. G. R. 

♦ Died Nov. 13, 1873. 



336 MISCELLANEOUS PaSMS. 



IT MUST NOT BE. 

Fortune is fickle as the moon ; 

Fame is Love and Praise distorted ; 
And Glory, a star behind a cloud ; 

But Truth and Love God's gifts consorted ! 

The wise soon learn their matchless worth— 
They prize them well and keep them long ; 
Love says to him who rules by hate, 
" No more thyself or country wrong ! " 

Four loug, long years, the conflict raged 

Upon the land and on the sea ! 
And would you now those scenes renew ? — 

It must not, can not, shall not be ! 

L G. R. 



A MOUNTAIN EXPERIENCE. 

NivK weary up-hill miles we sped, 
The setting sun to see ; 

Sulky and grim he went to bed- 
Sulky and grim went we. 

Seven sleepless hours wo tosaed— and then, 

The rising sun to see, 
Sulky and grim we rose again — 

Sulky and grim rose he. l. o. b. 



WISeELL Algous PdlEM^,^ ^- 



STOEM km Cl^m. 

Tde Storm-god came out of the Oeetwi, 
And roared through his wave- woiu cavoa * 

And hissed like an irritant demou, 
Far over the foam- white waves 1 

■^^ N., 

But when the red sun, rearisen, "»' 

Over-crimsoned the sea with hia glow ; 

As calm was: the long, flat billow. 
As the drowned men who slumbered below. 

Oh, never seemed half so lovely, . . 

The watery, wide expanse ; 
Or more peacefully heaved the bosom 
• Of- $.; maiden in saintly trance ! 

So' the turbulent gusts of passion 
Sweep over the storm-tossed breast ; . 

And stir its unfathomed abysses, 
Wi^h-aji iufinitp, vague unrest ! 

But when the invincible spirit, 

Detiatit, shall vanquish its pain, 
Havins tasted earth's bitterest aortOrw, 

No torture can touch it again. 

For the holy, ineffable quiet, 

That follows a long despair, 
Comes down like a blessing from heaven, 

On a penitent soul at prayer ! h. s. c. 

43 



33^ ."^ISGELLAKEOVS POKMS. 



THE INITIALS. 

I CARVBD in a golden time 

On the bark of a birchen tree ; 
When the -mnds were laden with rhyme. 
And the burly troubadour bee 
Hung over the clover as if in a dream, 
And hummed to himself a rollicking theme — 
That theme in it» crooning meant mischief, I 
ween ! 
He was looking on her and on me, *. 

A» I carved the two letters, "A. D." 

I knew in the meadows so rare 

Silky rustlings were beard in the com } 
The village maids merry and fair 
Found the ears that were flushed with 
the dawn, 
And finding them blushing, turned gaily 

away; 
The red leaves and zephyrs I knew were at 

play; 
The mill-wheel dull thundered in rainbows 
and spray ! 
Ah, had I then chanced but a red ear to see, 
I had not kept on carving those letters, 
"A. D." 

D. HGNBY WALKEB. 



SOWING SEED. ^ 

Ye man yt plantes a gray birche tree, 

Littyl indeed I trow knows he 

He worketh for posterity. h. a. 



MISCELLANEOUS POBM5. 339 



TO THE MEMORY OP A REVOLUTION- 
ARY SOLDIER. 

Facing to a southern view, 
Stood a cot of sombre hue, 
And hence the sunshine ever streamed aiong 
the yard, 
Purpleing'thB lilac trees 
Ere the half-awakened bees 
For early sweets began to search the growing 
sward. 

When the spring was all aglow, 

And the flowers began to blow. 
It waB his delight to sit before the door, 

While the blithe, mischievious air. 

Trifled careless with his hair, 
Be silvered with the snows of eighty years or 
more. 

Quaintly dight with carvings rare, 

Was his quaint, old-fashioned chair, 
And his cockade, gilded round and round, 

As he held it on his knee, 

Seemed a fitting company 
To the brightened, brassy buckles that kept 
his hosen bound. 

And his golden-headed cane 
From an English oak was ta'en 
That cast its gentle shadow the grave of Hamp* 
den o'er. 
And a mark was on its side. 
That should start a thrill of pride — 
A Pilgrim's name, entranced a hundred years 
before ! l.. a. b. 



m 



Sf^^fG^^A^EQXfS PiC^5CS«- 



WUTEOW-LOVI:. 



I OFTES gaze acroBg the way, 

My heart moet quiclkly beating,. 
For oft I see some lovely fay 

Eetuns my pleasafit greeting ; 
Ah, then is fancy STVeetly fed 

VVith smiles and melting glancesy 
Beminding me of tales I Ve read 

Of Cupid'& wild romancea ! 

Sow quicfely leaps my pulsing blood, 
With joy ecstatic'rushing, 

When every bow receives a nod, 
And casted kisses— blushing ! 

Those beaming eyes, so bright, so fair- 
That face—with smiles the sweetest — 

Those golden waves of streaming hair, 
Though careless, yet the neatest, — 

Give magic slTeetness to each charm. 

So loving, witching, sueing, 
5^at though the maid thinks not of bfinn, 

She '11 be my heart's undoing ! 
Ah, lovely stranger o'er the way, 

Receive my heart's devotion 1 
Its tender homage I would pay, 

With youth's divine emotion. u o. b. 



PATIENCE. 

We have suffered the Wiiong ; 

We have strv^k for the Bight ! 
The Night has been long—. 

But the Day is in sight ! l. o. r. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 341* 



A MEMORY. 

Deah frieud, whose kindly precepts first 
My youthful poet-musings nurst, 
Ere the soul to full enchantment burst ; 
Keep'st thou the memory of the times 
When, like a Sybil's, leaves with rhymes 
Were writ, and brooks woke silver chimes ? 

Thy hand.laid gently on my arm, 

Thy gentle words came like a charm, 

To still my timid sou.'s alarm ! 

The thoughts thy sacred lips conf est 

Soothed the fierce storm within my breast, 

And stilled its turbid tide to rest. 

Then, flowers were fortunes ; bird and bee, 
Brought blissful ecstasies to me, 
A nd Heaven was here, sweet friend, in thee 1 
Though time and space our being sever — 
Though we meet no more on earth forever— 
Thy memory shall be forgotten never ! 

Inspired with wild poetic rage, 
We conned each sacred. Heaven-writ page, 
All scornful of the upbraiding sage ! 
Now, round our balmy trysting-p'ace 
Each flower has withered ; was their grace 
But borrowed from thy saintly face ? 

L. G. R. 



AFTER "MY POLICY." [1866.] 

Aftek the portion, the wasteful son ; 

After the frost, the fallen leaf ; 
Gold and silver when paper is done — 

After the fasting, roasted beef. 



3'4i MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

After the dawn, the openmg eye ; 
After the singing, the hill of staves ; 

Blandest smiles when sweet maids pass by- 
After the rattle, placid babes. 

After the pinks, the sweetest of smells ; 
After the calm, the heaviest blows ; 

Painful partings from pretty belles- 
After red wine, the ruby nose. 



After the races, the record of speed ; 

After the drought, a freshet of rain ; 
After the winter, the vernal mead — 

After " My Policy," a Republican gain ! 

L. G. R. 



LIFE'S STORY. 

N ) backward path, no retracing ; 
No backward path, no erasing. 

No backward path, no returning ; 
No backward path, but deep yearning. 

No backward path- there 's no delating ; 
No backward path — there is no staying. 

No backward path — forever flying ; 
No backward path — for all are dying. 

No backward path— we soon must part ; 
No backward path, to the sad heart ! 

L. G. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 343 



DEVOTION. 

The Pilgrim who to Mecca wends his wav, 

Counts not the journey- long, 
Nor notes the length of e'en the dreariest 
day. 

So he at heart be strong. 

So I count not the many miles that lie 

'Twixt my fond heart and thine, 
If but on wing<§d winds of Love I fly, 

To clasp and call thee mine ! l. g. b. 



DON'T YOU HEAR THE ECHO ? 

Oh, don*t you hear the echo, boys, 

From Maine and from Vermont ! 
The Boys in Blue are rallying. 

And marching to the front ! 
The hills of Colorado 

Have sent it back again, 
And Minnesota answers 

The victory-shout of Maine ! 

Oh, don't you hear the echo, boys, 

So resonant and grand ! 
The reveille of Victory 

Is sounding through the land ! 
It is sounding through the land, boys, 

Come up and join the host. 
And let our gallant leader find 

Each freeman at his post ! l. g. b. 



J4C AMSCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



SLEEP, BA.BY, SLEEP. 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! the day has gone over; 

Night-winds are singing and sighing arovind; 
And over the tree- tops the soft moonbeams 
hover. 

And dear little birdie his nest^has found. 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! soon morn will o'ertake us ; 

Pillow your sweet head on this loving breast ; 
Soon the day dawn from slumber will wakens ; 

So now. Baby Bye, let us rest ! l. G. it 



GENTLENESS. 

A KISS is braver than a blow ; 

And love is manlier than hate ; 
The gentle- mind is ever low, ■, ^ 

Whatever its estate, 

A tear may glorify a head. 
Or consecrate a throne — 

From kings alike unto their God, 
Where other kings are none. l 



A FRAGMENT. 

We are Pilgrims journeying aye 

From earthly joy and cheer ; 
We are passing fast away 

From glad hopes that once were dear— 
From all that 's worthy love— 

From fond ties tearful riven — 
To a happy home above, 

And eternal rest in Heaven. l. g. b. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 345 



O, MUEMXJR NOT. 

Nk'eb murmur at your lot in life ; 

Look upward— be a man ; 
Away with discontent and strife, 

And do the best you can ! 
What though you have no broad, green lands, 

Nor coffers filled with gold, 
You've health and strength, and honest hands. 

Better thsax wealth untold ! 

Though cares life's pathway thick should strew, 

And sorrows hover round, 
You often find where rank weeds grow. 

The fairest flowers are found — 
That, nurtured well by tender care. 

The weeds all pulled away. 
They soon will bud, and beauteous bloom. 

Beneath the smiles of May. 

Far better feel the joys that thrill 

The honest yeoman's breast — 
The sleep that o'er his senses steal, 

When kissed by Peace to rest, 
Than lead a life of idleness, 

Though riches should surround it ; — 
Then be content, and leave the world 

Far better than you found it. l. o. r. 



Old Saws" to wisdom oft are wed : 
A stitch in time saves nine," 'tis said ; 
So, if thou f eel'st one in thy side, 
Deem not thyself too early tried. k. 

44 



546 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS* 



GLANORE. 

By Erie's shore, 
Again I taste the perfumed island-wine, 
Where smihng yineyards ripe with clusters 
shine, 

And see Glanore ! 

Her faultless form 
Moves near me with its rare, bewitching 

grace : 
The Autumn sunset glorifies her face, 

With beauties warm. 

Her heaven-blue eyes 
Unconsciously reflect their subtile sense : 
Each glance yet fraught with virgin innocence 

That true men prize. 

Her lips enthrall 
Unsullied kisses for fond love's delight: 
Ah, would my heart dared put its fears to 
flight 

And win them all • 

Oh, heart elate. 
Thou read'st at last the riddle of her glance I 
Now, soul, be brave, for if thy love advance, 

Glanore's will wait. 

OSCAB H. HABPEL. 



A PRECEPT. 

Come, girls, put by your pens and books, 

And stay your nimble darning ; 
More beaus are trapped by saucy looks 

Than snared by work or Taming, l. a. b. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 347 



BY THE SEA. 

AoAiN I stand upon the ocean's shore, 
And think how far, like yon horizon's line, 

Is now an hour since, 'mid the ocean's roar, 
I fondly kissed your lips and called you 
mine. 

Mmky the sky, unmerciful the gale, 
High rose the waves above the roaring setb, 

I blessed the storm— for you, with features 
pale, 
Turned from the blast and closer clung to 



How like the mountain wave my passion's 
strength ! 

Though baffled oft, as oft it would advance, 
Till prone upon the sands it lay at length, 

Dashed on the stormy rocks of circimistance. 

Now, reaching far to peaceful ocean's rim. 
No storm disturbs the water's placid breast. 

White sails of hope gbam in the distance dim, 
And clouds and wind, and water are at rest. 

Yet are there depths beneath the glassy floor, 
Calm depths, unfathomable like my love. 

Which in my inmost heart can stiU adore, 
Although no wave of passion raves above, 

JESSE HOWAKD LOBD. 



^ rMISCEiLLANEOUS POEM». 



GENEVRA. 

1 WELCOME back the morning sties, 

So blue, so bright ! 
I greet each bower and lea that lies 

Where yesternight 

Genevra's eyes 
Beamed into mine their loving light. 

The south wind caught her silken hair. 

All flowing free, 
And dallied with the tresses rare, 

Until to me 

The balmy air 
Seemed rife with their fine filagree. 

With girhsh grace her lily hand 

Reclaimed them soon, 
And deftly bound each truant strand. 

While the round moon. 

With radiance grand, 
On Night's broad bosom jeweled June. 

And where, within the lucent sheen, 

Genevra stood, 
Like some resplendent fairy queen 

Of vale or wood, 

I hail the scene 
Of love's divine beatitude. 

OSCAR H. HARPBL. 



.*«SeEJ.LANEOUS POEMS. 349 



ET CETERA. 

At Meriden, one eve in Spring, 

It was that first I met her. Ah, 
She was the daintiest, nicest thing 

That ever stepped, et cetera. 

How sweet her soft, white hand to hold ! 

To dehcately fetter a 
Fair finger with a ring of gold. 

Which— you know how it is yourself, et cetera. 

Some deem it rash to fall in love ; 

And perhaps I had better have let her a— 
Lone ; for a wife, you know, by Jove, 

Is, well, and so forth, et cetera. i,. g. b. 



MUTABILITY. 

Sweet is Childhood ! 
Childhood over, kiss and part ! 

Sweet is Youth ! 
But Youth's a rover ; so 's my heart ! 

Love is Rest ! 
But by all showing, toil is nigh. 

And now we go ! 
Alas, the going ! sad good-bye ! L. G. r. 



350 MISCELLANEOUS POKMS. 



THE LOVER'S REPLY. 

Oh, tell me, where is Fancy bred ? " 
She asked, and, getting bolder, 

She laid her darling little head 
Right down upon my shoulder. 

And I, with no more poetry in 
My soul, than in a Quaker's, 
Replied, with idiotic grin, 
" You'll find it at the baker's." r . 



SMALL BEGINNINGS. 

It was but a little sip, 
Just a taste upon the lip, 

But it left a longing there ; 
Then the measure larger grew, 
And the habit strengthened too. 

Till it would no curbing bear : 
So the demon Drink decoys — 
Soul and body both destroys ! l g. r. 



HAVE YOU HEARD THE NEWS? 

Oh, have you heard the news, 
From Maine— Maine — Maine ! 

The yeoman of the East 

Have given us at least 
Twenty thousand thumping votes 
1857.] As a gain— and still again ! l. a. b. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 35 1 



SMOKE. 

I WATCH the gossamer wreaths that rise 

From the fragrant folds of my good cigar, 
And dream of the Cuban isle that hes 

Ever embraced by the seas afar, 
Where the palm trees cast their shadows long, 

'Neath the cloudless blue of the tropic skies, 
And the creole senoritas throng 

To gladden each eve with their starry eyes. 

I dream of a damsel whose orbs of jet 

Once fettered my heart with their mystic 
power. 
And woke a feehng that lingers yet, 

As I sit and smoke in the twilight hour. 
Ah me, how often 'midst orange groves, 

We wandered away in that vernal land — 
Unto paths where eltish Cupid roves — 

With the perf imied blossoms on either hand. 

'T was then her lingers so deftly formed 

The delicate cigarettes for me, 
And hers was the glance that flashed and 
warmed 

With its fire the passion it would not see. 
And free of fancy she rambles so 

Till the groves were laden with globes of 
gold, 
In that Spanish island all aglow 

With its sunny memories manifold. 

At length I waited for Inez again. 
Resolved to offer my hand and my love, 

I waited from seven o'clock till ten, 
Like a lone disconsolate turtle-dove : 



352 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 

But she came no more as in the past, 
To strengthen the chain that her absencfe 
broke ; 

So I Ut a good cigar at last. 
To solace the hopes that ended in smoke. 

OSCAB H. HAKPlL. 



ACTION. 

Vain words are nothing : deeds alone 

Give energy and life ; 
This earthly course is not a woi'd, 
But mighty action, felt, not heard, 

Evolvinji Peace from Strife ! i 



USING, NOT ABUSING. 

What we possess and use, alone makes rich ; 

We do not own that which we do not use ; 
Thus all were opulent of those things which 

They now have, they would use and not 
abuse. l. g. r. 



CERTAIN UNCERTAINTY. 

We live to-daj', to-morrow we may go ; 
And we must die, but when we may not know ; 
We'i'e journeying toward a land we cannot see ; 
Tliis sad uncertainty — how can we careless be ? 

L. G. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 3^3 



PATIENCE. 

Shall we be aelfish, when His potent power 
Who nileth all things, in His chosen hour 
Calls forth the treasure of the loving heart, 
And earth's strong chain, affection, falls apart? 

Shall we be selfish, when the sweet, pure son! 
Of her so loved beyond our heart's control, 
Finds in seraphic realms a softer light — 
And bathes in joys no mortal sin can blight ? 

Let us be patient ; — near her Savior's side. 
Insatiate longings sweetly satisfied, 
She lives in love, unknowing sin's alloy — 
With ready will each power finds sweet employ. 

Let us be patient, though each coming mor- 
row 

Deepens the anguish of our first great sorrow; 

Our heavy loss hath brought her heavenly 
gain— 

And hall we wish her back to earth and pain ? 

No ! rather will we thank the boundless love 
Which sent so bright a blessing from above 
And made our hearts resound to soulful song, 
And bound our souls to heaven with ties so 
strong. 

But yet we miss her smiles, her beaming face, 
Her tender words, her gentle, girlish grace ; 

45 



354 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

We miss ths aon^s she used to sweetly sin?. 
No more upon our ears her merrj^ voice shall 
ring. 

God's time is best : hrste, haste, oh, g<lden 

hours ! 
Through Christ e'en Ufe aud conquered death 

are ours ! 
Happy are they who've entered heaven's gate, 
And happy they who 'mid Ufa's toil shall wait 

L. G. E. 



LOVE IS NOT BLIND. 

Nou doth the Love-god always rise 
From out the eyes. 

Oftimes at portals of the ear 
Soft tones we hear. 

Rest comes not to the weary heart 
While Love 's apart. 

Love asks no eyes — enough it be 
To hear— nor see. 

Still 't is not true that Love is blind : 

His eyes his mind ! l. q. b. 



GOD VISIBLE IN NATURE. 

There's not a leaf, or bud, or flower, 
Nor grass-blade springing from the sod. 

That bears not in its perfect form 
The presence of the Living God. o. h. h. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 355 



THE GRINDERS. 

Eternal, Rome, seated on seven hills, 
And big with conquests and ambition's last. 

Sent forth her legions thick as Egypt's ills, 
To grind opposing nations into dust. 

And Rome still stands — immortal and sub- 
lime ! 
Nor hamlet is there where we may not find 
Her minions now as in mediaeval time — 
They yet go forth — their mission still to 
grind ! L. G. k. 



WORK. 



Wo'.'K, work, work — no end to strife ; 
Work, work, work — 't is the fate of life. 

Work, work, work, till the set of sun 
Brings niyht again — with its work undone. 

Work, work, work, though rest we crave— 
'Tis a ceaseless round from birth to the grave. 

Work, work, work, till this life is done ;— 
We shall have sweet rest when the crown is won. 

L. G. R. 



35^ MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



METRICAL RENDITION OF THE 
- TWENTY-THIRD PSALIVL 

Mt shepherd is the Lorrl. 

My wants he will supply : 
By waters still he leads. 

In pastures green I lie. 

My soul he doth restore, 
And for his ovrn name's sake. 

He leads me in the paths 

Which bat the richteoiis take. 



No evil will I fear. 

Yea, though I journey through 
The shadowy vale of death, 

For thou art with me too. 



Thy rod and staff of strength 
Shall help and comfort me, 

And till my path shall end, 
My trust is all in thee. 

In presence of my foes, 
Behold, thou hast prepared 

A table me before. 
Nor hath thy bounty spared. 

Thou dost annoint my head 
With oil thy hand bestows : 

The cup of gracious love 
Thou gavest, overflows. 



ailSCELLANEOUS POEMS. 357 

Surely shall goodness still 

And mercy fellow me, 
Until my days of life 

Shall all completed be. 

Forever I shall dwell 

With him my Lord and friend : 
His house shall be my home 

Where joy shall never end. 

O CAR II. H >RPEL. 



TO A PORTRAIT. 

EY-f= that oiitsmiled th3 morning's prime, 

Behind long, go den lashes - 
Where is the iire of olden time .' 
Resolved to ashes ! 

Lips mutely eloquent, sublime — 
Voice softer than aeolian lyre ! 
Art now within the reach of Time ? 
Quenched is life's iire ! 

Cheeks that outbl ashed the reddest rose — 

Lily-white arms, and snow}' bist ; 
Where now doth beauty t!nd repose ? 
In churchyard duEt 1 

O angel forir, divinely fair ! 

O sweetest tlower of mortal bloom ! 
Where seeps she still beyond compare ? 
In the cold tomb ! 

L. G R 



3S8 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



CLYTIE 



A SEA-bHORE IDYL. 

Gt.KESOME, witching, dainty fay, 

Sportive as a young gazelle, * 
With thy Bliadow maldng play, 

Where the moonlight's silvery spell 
On the gray beach pictures thee ; 

Where the surf-song and the plash 
Speak a greeting from the sea, 

Ab it8 waters leap and flash — 

Greeting winsome Clvtie ! 



For thy wondrous wealth of hair, 

For thy ehin eyes of jet, 
For thy spirit debonair, 

Let me linger near thee j-et ! 
Let me hoar th}^ ronndelay, 

Float along the ocean breeze ; 
Let thy glances bid me stay. 

Seeing as none other sees — 
"Dearest, darling Clytie ! 

O'er the broidery of the foam, 

Looms a bark Hope fondly sails, 
And its haven is Love's home : 

Waft it hither, gentle gales ! 
Here is Love's own chosen shore ! 

And Clytie ! wilt thou be 
Its bright beacon evermore ? 

Shall my life rejoice in thee. 

As my bride— my Clytie ! 

0.\'CAI{ H. HlBPiCL. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 359 



TO CARRIE DOEMAN. 



Sweet bud thou art, and blooiniug bright, 
And pure, and fair, and dear ; 

May ne'er a sombre shade of doubt 
To thy sweet soul pa.s3 near. 



Nor would I the dim f uture'w veil 
From off thy young life lift, 

Nor seek to scan the sombre days. 
Nor peer through Time's thick rift. 



I would not see the ein-wove snares 
The tempter still doth set, 

For if thy life be fraught with cares, 
Hope, wistful, waiteth yet. 



But I would have thy bright young life 

The fullest joy to know. 
Accepting what thy tide3 beset, 

And firm in patience grow. 



And thus, my hand in blessings lay 

Softly upon thy brow. 
Beseeching (Jod that he would keep 

Thee pure and dear ; s now. l. g. 



360 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



AT CHRISTMAS, 

Glad>! MR voices are commiu^ling in this 

blessed Christmas morn ; 
Human nature selt-for^^etting with the tide 

of joy is borne ; 
From the c«res which Hfe encompass — from 

the prced of gain from grief, 
Man moves godlike for a season, though its 

period be but brief. 

He whose Hfe v.as kind and holy— given to 
redeem or.r race. 

Claims thiuiksgiving p.nd requital in our mor- 
tal deeds of grace. 

And His pacrifi(*ing mercy pleads for charity 
from all, 

Aaking e ;;ch to lielp the needy and uplift the 
weak who fall. 

Then let Christmas feasts be savored with a 
hesrtfrau'^ht gratitude, 

Bearing d^ epcr sense enfolded rich with love's 
beutitv.de, 

Yielding homage imto Him who glorified us 
in his birth. 

Till one brotherhood of Christians shall in- 
habit all the earth ! 

((^CaB H. UA' TEL.. 



•MISCSLl^AKiKHJS i>0&M». 36 1 



EARTH-WEARY. 

The earth is fair— its fertile valleys lie 
As glad as if beneath a Tuscan sky ; 
Scarce lisp the breezes as they slowly pa..^ 
And kiss the reaching boughs aud'spriu mg 
grass. 

The birds sing sweetly in the sheltered 
shade- 
All nature smiles in summer's sunny glow — 
All things rejoice in what our Godhatli made — 
And man alone would fuller knowledge 
know. 

The strong ship strains its moorings to go 
forth 
And breast the billows of life's botinding 

sea, 
That stretches out into immensity ! 
And thus, man's soul, weighed down to sordid 
earth. 
Struggles and strives from fetters to be free, 
And heavenward reaches out eternally ! 
L. G. R 



HOLINESS. 

CotTLD wealth but bribe Death's dreadf td «iart, 
No more to pierce the human heart, 
Ilien none would labor more than I, 
Earthy sordid store to still supply. 

But Death strikes each a fatal blow, 
Or be he high or be he low. 
46 



362 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

So, eince riches have not power 
To stay the inevitable hour, 
Why should wealth my time employ, 
Or wealth aflford me fleeting joy ? 

Then, a lowly life be mine, 

While I kneel at nature's shrine ; 

And her beauties, fair and free, 

Blend in blissful joys for me — 

Dissipating sordid care, 

And filling my glad soul with prayer, l. o. b. 



SWEEP IS THE YES. 



Must it be no, dear love ? Ah, no ! 
For the stmbeams would then too sadly slow, 
As mourningly they would come and go : 
It muat not be no, dear love ! ah, no ! 

Bhall it bo yes, dear love ? Ah, yea ! 

The sunbeams shall bear thee a perfumed 
kiss, 

From lips that would answer thy fond ca- 
ress : 

And it shall be yes, dear love— and yea ! 

It 18 yes, dear love— sweet yes ! 
Bear me, ye winds, from her lips a kiss-- 
A kiss from the lips I would gladly press : 
For sweet is the yes of my love — is the yes ! 

L. G R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 363 



SONNET. 

I love her yet as in days long ago : 
Though 'seeming dead, e'en now her sylph- 
like form 
Awakens feelings passionate and warm — 

A sweet sense such as youthful lovers know. 

Too full was life of all unmingled mirth. 
When, years agoue, we had our trysting 
time, 

For the sad levels of this lowly earth — 
Too high, and too ineffably sublime I 

The Past comes up, with the impurpled eve 
When, hand in hand, we saw the setting sun 
Sink out of sight— his fleeting glory done — 
Reflected radiance on the heavens leave : 
But on that shore where sinks no setting 

sun, 
Soon shall two souls be sweetly Joined in 
one ! L. G. K. 



SONNET. 

I sit beside the melancholy hearth, 
And dream dear dreams of long departed 

years. 
Ere truth and trust had saddened been with 
tears — 
And boyhood's buoyant heart had buried mirth. 

My soul the mazes treads of mystic land, 

The shadowy shade of dreamful memory— 
Where skies smile sweetly soft, blow breezes 
bland, 
^Vnd lakes lie smooth as silvered summer 
seas. 



SSi^ MfSGELLANEOUS POfiOTS. 

I see, apocalyptic, one I loved, 
And eyes that looked through tender tears 

in mine : 
I press rare lips, once red as ruby wine, 
With joy, and now with grief my heart' is 
mored : 
Our lives rolled on like some mellifluent 

rhyme, 
Till seraphs bore her to some summer 
elime, l. o. b. 



SONNET. 

So pwEETtT pure thou art in sacred thought ; 
E'en sorrow's shadow seeks thy solaced 

care, 
And grief beams bright, and smiles through 
sad despair : 
Th 30ul is e'er with kindly feelings fraught. 

ll'Yf low I kneel beside thy saintly shrine : 
So fair thy form— thy face one sweet, sweet 
smile ! 
The prayer I breathe— "Dear one, wilt thou 
be mine ? — 
Wilt give to me thv heart that knows no 
guile?" 

I list thy accents breathed in seraph tone : 
With fond caress, and murmured music 

low, 
Thy hallowed lips met mine and sealed the 
vow. 
My dearest dear, my plighted, angel one I 
Tiiy lips have said the blissful words divine, 
That wod my ardeiit soul for aye to thine ! 

L. G. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 3^ 



OCTOBER. 

Glad Sammer'a holiday is done, 

The landscape waxetli sober : 
And Autumn's bounteous reign begun, 

Comes now serene October. 
The hues that tint the wide expanse, 

Of forest and of meadow, 
Soon less and less must lose their trance, 

As shadow follows shadow. 



A hush pervades the azui'e air. 

Like silence following rhymes ; 
And farewell birds take wing for fair 

And gayer floral climes. 
Yet still chirps low, in plaintive mood, 

The cricket's lonely luto ; 
And hoarsely brawl, down rocky wall. 

Streams which ma^st soon be mute. 



And so, clear October days ! 
I love thy deepening duns and grays — 
Thy frosty heaths and dreamy runes, 
Thy steadfast stars and harvest moons. 
Thy wealth of fruit — thy yellow sheaves. 
And silent fall of dying leavts — 
And think how soon to dust must turn 
The hopes that nevermore return I 

Over the vales 
Comes the sound of flails, 
While the thresher unban d« 
"With hrawriv l-ands 



366 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

The ripe and mstliug sheaves ; 
Then stron.a; and slow, 
With a muffled blow, 

The flying flail he heaves ! — 
While the children laugh, 
As they watch the chaff, 
So light and dry. 
Fly wide and high — 
While underneath, 
From its golden sheath, 
Down rattles the ripened rye ! 

Nov,' slowly tlirough 

Clear skies of blue, 

The cloud-fleet floats 

With its silver boats, 
And forest hues on every hand. 
Lead Poesy into fancy-land ! 
Yellowing beeches and maples red. 
Scarce yet their gorgeoxis garb have shed ; 

But the sad winds sigh. 

Through branches dry, 
As if they dreamed of Summer dead ! 

80 brave October, though we raise 
For thee no laughing sr.mmer lays, 
Good cheer shall welcome thee and thine, 
With purpled pressure of the vine, 
And Avinter wassail of old wine ! 
And long may life the chaim retain 
To bring thee to us oft again ! 

L. G. R. 



OCTOBER. 

Now Autumn's role is fair begun. 
In calm and clear October ; 

With Summer's pageant f uUy done, 
In blithe and brave October , 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 367 

Delij^hthil views and ravished sense. 
The heart of man sweetly entrance, 

In kindly, keen October : 
Touched by the mystic ether of the land of 

dreams, 
Impearled in beauty emiling Nature seems. 

A. soft hush fills the stilly air, 

Repose and rest the seasons bring : 
The busy birds no more breathe care, • 
Nor gaily, blithesome, tireless sing ; 
The grasshopper plaj's on its magical flute. 
The cricket chirps low like the strains of 
a lute ; 
While Nature beats time, 
As in rhythmic rhj-me, 
To a key pitched low, 
And with soft cadence slow : 
Sweet, sweet is the music eo softly they wake, 
Aud sweetly the strings of the soul vibrate ! 

Q, glad October days ! 
With russet pears, and scarlet hues, and 

yellow sheaves. 
And saddened winds, and pallid mists, and 

rustling leaves. 
And clover- balls, and moorland heaths, and 

chastened noons, 
And tranquil hours, and steadfast stars, and 
purple glooms, 
And twittering birds, and bleating flocks, 
And lowing herds, and fattened flocks. 
And close-reaped fields, and dew-drenched 

grass. 
And sun-streaked skies, and dried mora«« I 

Now the young aud stalwart thresher, • 
Stooping "stands o'er shining tveasxire. 
And the heavy flail he heaves 
O'er the ripe and rustling Hhoaves 
Spread about the <']f*:^n-H\ve]>t flot>r. 



368 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Soon the shadows stiil will darken, 
And the waiting wife will hearken 
For loved footsteps at the door — 
For the step of son or husband softly stept 
beside the door. 

Faintly flecked. t!»e fleecy clouds now float so 

slowly, stilly b}'. 
Sailing through the soft blue ether of an 

Autumn evening sky ; 
While the pretty poet-pictures, greeting us on 

every hand, 
Gay with green and gold, and garish, seem 

still like some falry-laua. 

Here, tali maples, grand and stately, robed 

and regal like a queen. 
Red and purple— all the colors of the rainbow, 

with its sheen — 
Crimson, scarlet, pink tlie palest, and the 

softest tints of blue, 
While through tiny interstices shines the sun 

with silver hue. 

Loitering thus in sunny days of Autvimn's 

golden prime. 
The soul to Nature truly tuned, keeps steady, 

rhythmic time - 
While the red leaves of the wind-shaken trees 
Seem an emblem of life's swift-receding seas ! 

O, mild October days. 
Winsome are all thy ways I 

The hampered heart, the saddened soul. 
Now takes new start toward its goal ! 

Thy twilight's calm soothes sordid strife. 
And ope.s the gates to endless life! 

L. G. R. 



•KSCEI.LANEOUS FORMS. 369 



SCHUYLKILL WATER. 

WHt<:&E raxe Wissaluckon's stream inflo\ring 

quickens 

Thy wa^er, O Schuylkill ! to-day, by thy side, 

I hear the birds singing, with reverie bringing 

Dear scenes and fond memories over thy 

tide. 

Here once was the wildwood that in my dear 
childhood 
Concealed the cool grottos of rock and of 
vine, 
Whose ferns and wild flowers beguiled the 
sWift hours. 
With fairyland near that no longer is mine. 

There, under the willows still play the light 
billows. 
Where lads of the past were aye fain to 
resort ; 
Those trees, the sad tanglers to unwary an- 
glers, 
Becall to my thoughts the glad epoch of 
sport. 

The fair fields, the highways, the orchards, 
the byways. 
Along thy broad* margins I picture once 
more, 
As when a young rover, times over and over, 
I took with my mates those dear rambles 
of yore. 

Since then I have wandered, and silently 
pondered 

47 



570 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 

Full many a beautiful river beside ; 
But none flowed so dearly, so gently, bo 

clearly, 
A 8 thine, beloved Schuylkill, dark Delaware's 

Bride. 

The far-away mountains are blithe with the 
fountains, 
Whence jubilant forth, like a child in its 
glee, 
Cer rocks— down ravines— through the wild 
forest scenes. 
Thou choosest a way for thyself to the sea. 

Anon, in the valleys, whose brooks are thy 
aHies, 
More glowing and graceful thy beauties 
unf ©id r 
Like a virgin thou wearest th^n charms that 
are rarest, 
As coyly thou smilest on meadow and wold. 

Kow rip'lingly wending round hills that are 
bending 
Low down to be kissed, as fond wooers 
would be. 
With brightness abounding in every sur- 
rounding. 
How splendid is nature when nourished 
with thee ! 

By vistas of tillage,— by hamlet and village, 
Thy shimmer is welcomed, thy bosom ca- 
ressed, 
Till queenly thou glidest where grandly 
abidest 
Thy throne and thy triumph — brave Dela- 
ware's breast 

And with thee is floated affection devoted 
As any that springs from a true, loving 
heart i 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 37 1 

Though Commerce may grace thee, and Cities 
embrace thee, 
And deck thee with wealth and the trophies 
of Art. 

That love loves thee better that fainly would 
fetter 
Thy footsteps with joys for the children ot 
earth, 
Guarding scenes of thy choosing forever from 
losing 
One peaceful deUghtt' which tiay being eives 
birth. 

Flow on, Schuylkill Water! O mountains' 
fair daughter, 
I greet thee, and sip of thy sweetness 
again ! 
Nor will I forget thee, though changes beset 
thee — 
Forever endearing o'er love thou shalt 
reign ! 

OSCAR H. HARFEL. 



AT CHRISTMAS. 

Gladsome voices are commingling in this 

blessed Christmas mom ; 
Hmnan nature self-forgetting with the tide 

of joy is borne ; 
From the cares which hfe encompass — from 

the greed of gain— from grief, 
Man moves godlike for a season, though its 

period be but brief. 

He whose Ufe was kind and holy— given to 
redeem our race, "°^ **J 

Claims thanksgiving and requital in our mor- 
tal deeds of grace, 



372 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 

And His sacrificing mercy pleads for charity 

from all, 
Asking each to help the needy and uplift the 

vreai who falL 

Then let ChriBtmas feasts be savored with a 
heartfraught gratitude, 

Bearing deeper sense enfolded rich with love's 
beatitude, 

Yielding homage unto Him who glorified us 
in his birth, 

Till one brotherhood of Christians shall in- 
habit all the earth ! 

08CAB H. UAKPEL. 



MISSION OF THE SNOW. 

Silent-sandaled snowflakes, falling softly as 

an angel's tread, 
Slowly drifting down to earth from distant 

cloud-hights overhead, 
All your curious wanderings marking as ye 

hover here and there, 
Seem I to have guessed your mission, O ye 

children of the air ! 

Every slow-returning spring-time tall'and ten- 
der grasses wave 

Their wealth of greenness round about some, 
dear and treasured grave ; 

Spring glides onward into summer, and wil*},*! 
ruses bloom and fade. 

And anon the autumn leaves along the burial 
aisles are laid. 

Drear and lonely soon, and naked, see eaoh. rj 

silent, sacred mound ; 
Ah^ the bitter rain that beats them ! ah,, th*fn 

wind that sweeps them round ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 373 

Hear at leng^th the faithful snowflakes, each 

one as the Christ-child pure, 
"I will wrap yoxar graves up warmly; I will 

keep your dead secure." 

Every slow-returning winter, the sweet mira- 
cle of snow 

Lightliest lies upon the churchyard, and on 
those who sleep below ; 

And it lingers there the longest, where, re- 
moved from sin and stain, 

Best the ones whom God hath taken unto 
himself again. 

Such your mission, O ye snowflakes, hovering 

dim adown the air, 
Falling softly, gently earthward, like the boon 

of answered prayer ; 
Evangels to our consciousness, O messengers 

of blessing, 
That all our cherished graves are kept within 

thy kind caressing. 

THEODORE F. HAVEKS. 



SOLVED. 

The world is oM, and the world is cold. 

And never a soul is true, I said ; 
From the very first the earth has been curst. 

And ever and ever fond hearts have bled. 
But I looked at the flowers of these dreary 
hours, 

They bloom in winter as well as in spring ; 
I took freeh rest to my fevered breast, 

And thanked God for the beauty of every- 
thing. 

The world is old, and the world is cold, 
And I am tired of the struggle for bread ; 

And men are sold for fame or for gold, 
And I even wish that I were dead ! 



374 MtSCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

But I looked where the sun is shining on, ''->^- 
And the poor as the rich may bask in its 
raye ; 

And my heart was stirred at my bitter word, 
And I thanked my God for length of days. 

The world is old, and the world is cold, 

There is nothing in that which seemeth 
to be ; 
And honor and truth are the dream of youth. 

And the chances of life its waking be. 
But I lookfd in surprise in my baby's blue 
eyes. 

My doubts dispel, and my clouds remove ; 
And counting the cost of all I have lost, 

Yet V^fe is beauty, and God is love. 

BUTH G. D. BAVEKS. 



ELINOR. 

Moaning at my window-panes 
Drear December's voice complains. 

Winter's fleecy mantle white, 
Robes earth's weary breast to-night. 

Mournful memories of the past 

Gather with the chilUng blast. ruT 

Without thee, O Elinor, ''' ^ 

Life has naught worth living for! ' /^ 



Ah,^an angel's hand unbars 
Sapphire gates beyond the stars I 

Now there floats upon the air 
Melody beyond compare ! 

Circling through the sether go 
Seraph-wings as fair as snow ! 

Here, entranced, I gaze and see 
One, transfigured, smile on me ! 



tu: 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 375 

Hands outheld, and loving eyes 
Beckon me from Paradise ! 

Does this vision bright portend 
Heavenly joys when earth shall end ? 

Has thy spirit gone before 
But to guide me, Elinor ? 

OSCAR H, HARPEL. 



ELODIA. 

O Spani:«h maid, with Spanish eyes, 

And Spanish face, lit with surprise — 

Of thee I dream, and still again 

Sweet thoughts come winging o'er the main. 

My constant heart it loves thee well, 
With love more deep than tongue can tell ! 
Oh, give to me one sweet, sweet smile, 
And each sad thought it shall beguile. 

Or, if true heart, like mine, can be 
Truly embraced and held by thee, 
Bid now thine eyes all search resign. 
For I am wholly, wholly thine I l. o. s. 



THINKING. 

6 STaroabet, sweet Margaret ! 
With eyes of violet blue. 
None know as well as you 
How deep my love and true ! 

For your fond presence lingers yet ! 
My love is all complete — 
True love is mine and sweet ; 
True and ever I am true— 
For I love you and only you I 



^3^6 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

O Margaret, sweet Mabgabet ! 
None have ever loved like me— 
None can e'er so tender be ! 
Whate'er I think, whate'er I do, 
I think and do for love of you, 

Margaret, sweet Margaret ! 
Let twin stars more brightly shine, 
For I am yours as you are mine ! 
Kiss, and so shut speech away — 
Kiss, and live in love's sweet day ! 

L. Q. B. 



DEPARTED FAITH. 

This is the end of all I fondly dreamed : 
Withered the lily fair — faded the rose — 
And sere leaves fall where erst fond trust 
reposed : 

Friendship is not the priceless thing it seemed^! 

Only a few sharp words — it seems a dream ! 
No more shall hand be clasped in hand— no. 

never ! 
"Good-night," we said — it meant Good-by 
forever ! 
Faith's star-beam now seems but a ghostly 
gleam ! 

Silent I step and slow, down by Death's river : 

Bright flowers in slumber's arms are sweetly 
Bleeping — 

And Trust its constant watch is tireless 
keeping : 
"Good- night," we said— it meant Good-by, 
forever ! 

'Tis winter's night — when will the day be 
dawning ? 

When Faith and Trust shall wake in sum- 
mer's morning ! l. o. k. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 377 



DE PROFUNDIS. 

Ffar not : doubt not : 
That is not love which can not trust through 
all! 
But sometimes hearts are stirred 
By less than briefest word, 
And clouds bans: trembling where the stars 

once shone, 
And from the eyes that smiled the tears must 
fall. 
Yet fear not : doubt not : 
They always love, who ever love at all ! 
And though no power of will can make me 

glad, 
Or check the rushing thought that made mo 

sad ;— 
And though my heart is cold as graveyard- 
stone, 
And heavy as some hard, dead weight of 

lead, 
Yet not a word I said, is now unsaid : 
Beheve me still : thou dost not love alone ! 

KUTH G. D. HAVEN8. 



TRUE FRIENDSHIP. 

A FRIEND were hardly half a friend, were he 

content with less 
Than giving fullest faith and truth, and ten- 

derest tenderness. r. 

48 



378 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



CONSTANCY. 

PRECIOUS Love! how sweet to think. 
While slowly glides the waning year, 

Time clasps eternity's last link, 
And re-unites our fond hearts here. 

As. sitting in the dawn's glad light, 

Or sheltered from the noontide's glare, 

1 watch the eve descend to night — 
The silver stars still shining there ; — 

So, woven in the warp and woof 
Of what my being seems to be, 

My precious Love, behold the proof — 
My willing soul e'er clings to thee ! 

L. O. 



FIDELITY. 

I LOVE you with a love as pure as true, 

And sweet as heaven-distilled immortal dew. 

That greets the petals of the heart's fond 

flowers, 
Till they expand to gem life's fairest hours. 

Nor e'en shall Death make my fond love 

forget ! 
For were thy tears my lonely grave to wet, 
From every precious token of your grief 
There should upspring a heaven-be-span- 
gled leaf, 
To witness that I fondly loved you yet ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 379 

So firmly grounded is my faith in thee, 
My soul, my life, my fate and destiny ! 
I would as soon believe the noonday sun 
Could fail its wonted westward course to run, 
As that thou could'st inconstant prove to me ! 

L. G. R. 



LOVE'S KEPOSE. 

Your head but one moment was laid on my 
breast, 
But that moment was fraught with a heav- 
enly bliSiri, 

For warm were tlie lips that so sweetly I prest, 
As your fond lips touched mine in love's 
passionate kiss. 

Oh, the rapture that thrilled me while my 
pulses were stirred, 
As again my tired forehead dechned on 
your breast ; 
And my heart its wings closed like a worn, 
weai7 bird. 
When at 6ven it seeks sweet repose in 
its nest. 

Ah, such rare repose ne'er was known to a 
dove !— 
A repose sweet and calm — so like infinite 
rest — 
As when my heart throbbed close by yours, 
dear Love, 
And in tenderest accents I said, " We are 
blest ! " L. G. E. 



380 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



LOVE'S IRRADIANCE. 

Aye, brighter than the glad sun's soft sur- 
prise. 
That floods the land, orgildsthe argent sea, 
Is the mild love-light beaming from your 
eyes — 
And fairer than all else it seems to me. 



Gladly each morn, to greet the sun's advance. 
The rose, dew-diamonded with beau 13% glows: 

So, anxious still to meei your gentle glance, 
My heart's blood pulsing, quickly comes 
and goes. 

If e'er the sun smiles sweetly from above, 
Or answering looks from earth or from the 
wave, 
"Why not, from out my eyes' blue depths, dear 
Love, 
Read there the love-light that your own 
eyes gave ? l. g. r. 



RE -UNITED. 

Did you think my heart had grown cold, Love ? 

I knew it had seemed so to you ; 
But my hand I give you once more, Love, 

And 1 give you a heart fond and true. 
Though the soft days of summer are o'er, Love, 

And the clouds no more amber and gold, 
There 's a lingering kiaa on my lips. Love — 

A taste of the sweet days of old ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 381 

I Ve waited and longed for this hour. Love, 

That biings to my heart such delight ; 
But never so near did'st thou seem. Love, 

Nor so dear to my goal, as to-night ! 
For thy kiss lightly rests on my lips, Love, 

As so sweetly j'our lips they touched mine ; 
O heart-cherished idol, my own Love ! 

My soul shall e'er kneel at thy shrine ! 

L. G. R. 



THIS INDEED IS BLISS AND SWEET. 

Tnis indeed is true love sweet — 

This is earthly bliss complete ; 

True thou art, as I am true — 

Truest trust I give to you ; 

True and true, I love hut you, 

My darling Love— my Love— my Love ! 

This indeed is bliss and sweet ! 
This makes all my life complete ! 
All that in my soul hath grown, 
Sprang to life for you alone ! 
Every high and holy thought. 
Humbly to your feet is brought ! 
I love but you, my true Love true ! 
O Love, love me as I love thee ! 

Now you glad my heart again. 
Like warm sunshine after rain : 
To your soul ray fOul stili chngs, 
While my heart its tribute brings : 
All my Jove I give to thee— 
All I am— or hope to be ; 
All I lay upon thy shrine — 
For thou art mine, and I am thine ! 

L. o. E. 



3S2 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



CONFIDENCE. 

My darling dear, I cannot fear, 

For well I knew you love me ; 
Your glances say you love alway — 

Your every smile approves me ; 
Your fond trust proves you 're not afraid 

Of Love's sweet, tender token ; 
You list each low word gently said, 

And wait words yet unspoken. 

I bring my Love the fairest flowers — 

Fx'esh, dewy, and sweet-scented, 
To beaiitify the balmy bowers 

By us in love frequented : 
Soft finger-tips hold to red lips 

The fairest, reddest roses ; 
And in her kiss dwells sweetest bliss, 

And rarest love discloses. 



Her soft blue eyes, and blushing cheek, 

The heart's sweet secrets tell me ; 
Nor need is there of words to speak — 

Divinest fervors thrill me. 
Through blushes red, soft accents said : 

" My own sweet one — my lover ! " 
I e'er would ask in love to bask. 

And in my arms enfold her. l. O. k. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 383 



MOENING AND EVENING. 

Once radiant, blithesome mom 
Glowed glory-bright before my youngling 

gaze," 
As wandering forth I fou^id a vernal maze 
Kife with the music of delicious lays, 

By fragrant breezes borne. 

Long loitering by the way 
That led through bosky della and meads 

bedight. 
Breathing the tuneful air with hushed de- 
light, 
What cared I for the coining gloam of night. 
In childhood's perfect day ? 

O Child-Life ! carelei33, blest ! 
How gladsome v^^ere thy halcyon pleasures 

fied! 
Gone like the larks that warbled overhead. 
While chaste enjoyment to each by-way led, 

And each fair vista drest. 

Despite the mist of years, 
Fond memory pictures " still those happy 

hours — 
That dreamy past so fraught with fairy 

flowers ! 
Whose grassy leas, and brooks, and leafy 
bowei's 
Life's pensive evening cheers. 

OSCAR H. HiKPEL. 



384 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



PERFECT LOVE. 

Mads firmer by time, our love hath grown 

strong - 
Through crosses and trials, through sorrows 

and wrong ; 
Or whether clear weather, come sleet or come 

snow, 
Our hearts firm united withstand every blow. 

My Love true of old, true thy love is as gold ! 
My idol, my wife — truest trust of my life ! 
My riches, my love— my soul's dearest good— 
My drink and my food— my flesh and my 
blood ! 

My light and my sun ! our hearts beat as one ; 
United v.'c stand, joined in heart as in hand ; 
O sweet, sweet the rest, soft repose on thy 

breast ! 
Thou art Queen unto me ; I am King unto 

theo ! li. a. b. 



LOVE'S DEVOTION. 

I WOULD constant, truthful prove, knightly> 

gallant in my love ; 
Slave or servant glad would be, so thou only 

lovest me ; 
And I pled;4e my manly word — pledge aa 

though high Heaven heard — 
Ne'er will I be false to thee, so that thou art 

true to me. 

Proud and happy I shall be, when thy hand 

thou pledgest me ! 
Precious darling, breathe the word, and I 

kneel tli^' slave, or lord ! l. g. r. 



M&C£ft.I.AM9»US POEMS, ^H 



SHADOWa 

My hesirt is running oveir with its plenitude 

of pain, 
And the bitter tears are falling like a da>h of 

summer rain : 
I, so calm, BO brave, so hopeful, I so strong to 

bear, before, 
I, at last, am cruslied and trembling ; i can 

do or bear no more. 

What a strange, unsolved adnjixture is o|ir_ 

own humanity ! • "^ 

Half a wild, dis'oi ted nature, half a pur© 

divinity. 
Standing in our aspirations, hands and hearts . 

upUf ted high, > ' ^ 

Like the branches of the poplar, each one 

reaching towftrd the sky, '■^^' 

Hoping, trusting, giving, loving, breathii^g^ .. 

out good-will to men ; ' 

O, mysterious human nature! thou art truly 

God-like, then! 

But again are darker moments, coming to 

us, each and all. 
When the hands are weak and helpless, and 

the spirit is in thrall ; 
Faith is doubting. Love is hating, even 

Prayer has lost its power, 
And the very God who made us hides himael^ 

in such an hour ! 
Then the weight of desolation crushts out 

the mournful cry . .: 

That the Eastern breezes wafted from tib^t.'- 

Cross at Calva<ry ; 
49 



3S6 MISCELLANEOUS P^EMS. 

And the higher "we have risen, in onr spirits'^ 

airiest flight, 
So much lo-wer we are driven, in the darkness 

of our Bight, ^ 

May be there aie hn den reasons, or it may be 

there are none ; i^^, . 

But the hand that spreads the shadows is the 

Hand that made the sun. , : ■ .» 

I am sitting in the silence that belongs to 

holy time, 
Broken only by the echoes of the ehurch 

bells' holy chime ; 
But my heart is running over with the fullness 

of its pain, 
And the scalding tears are dropping like a 

plash of summer rain. 
I have had my happy moments, I have had 

my joyous hours— _, ii^a -, < 

Days and weeks as full of gladness as a 

meadow is of flowers ; . ,ii! ; r 

Now the way is dark before me — how or why 

I may not tell, 
But my Father holds my footsteps, and "He 
; . 4oeth all things well." 

BUTH O. D. HAVENS. 



WHEN I AM OLD. .«d ^in^rp 

Whek I am old— and, ah, how soon..o m. iin«i 
After life's morning cometh noon, ,: i1 

Glowing with fervid, golden light, ' '- 

Swiftly to fade in gloom and night. 

When I am old, will one true friend 
Journey still with me to the end ? 
Or, shall mates of my youth and prime, 
All have passed from the shore of Time ? 



J 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 3S7 

"When I am old, and worn, and gray, 
Then will the spirit, too, decay ? 
Or will an ageless, God-isom might 
Render its pathway glad and bright ? 

When I am old, will faith abide, 
Proving mry latest stay and guide, 
Unto the realms of joy and truth — 
Unto the sphere of endless youth ? ■ 

OSCAR £t. HABFEU 



PARTINGS. 

Sad in the parting of the ghostly ship's 

Chance throws together on the ocean wide ; 
Sweet were the words then tossed from lips 
to lips. 
Save fax-ewell greetings that e'er suich 
Ijetide. 



And sad the parting, still my heart replies, 
Of Trust wbose faith with dim < day-dawn 
begun, 
But 'neath the noonday's rays, pales, droops 
and dies, 
Or e'er the evening star its cotirse hath run. 

But sadder parting yet no mortal hath, 
Than they whose hearts by passions fierce 
are torn— 
Who must not tread the self-same sheltered 
path— 
Who live to love— who love, ajas, to mourn ! 

L. o. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



SONNET. 

Lova is the brightest band that binds the 
world : 
The sun with golden gleam gilds all the 

earth ; 
Peace reigns supreme beside the household 
:-^: ; "hearth : 
But every thought of Love is dew-impearled. 

Too brief the hours, Love's full perfume to 
yield : 
Yet grateful am I for the briefest space 
In which to clasp thy form, behold thy face. 
And touch thy lips, while vows are said and 
sealed. 

And must our lives, dissevered, count a a 

twain ? 
Must each to each be as the cold, pale 

dead, 
And Love's sweet sentence nevermore be 

eaid ? 
Or, seeking for sweet smilew, shall seek in vain? 
Nu, not till Death's cold stream our shallops 

cross, 
And in Nepenthe's drink we drown our loss. 

L. 6. R. 



L' HOMME. 

Too OFT I listened to his plea, 
Too soon forgot, too of t forgave ; 

But BOW I say, mth righteous pride, 
That which divideth him and me 

Bhall stand between us to the grave, 
And even on the other side. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 389 

M.Y wrongs were as a mountain high ; 

But this has crowned the towering pile, 
And changed my love to bitter hate ; 

And thoii£;h ho in the dust should lie, 
And crj' "Forgive," I'd only smile, 

And answer him, " Too late, too late ! " 

He called me bride, he called me wife ; 

And mocked me bv the tender name ; 
Forgot his honor, broke his faith ; 

For "Man. " he said, ' ' must taste of Hf e, 
And sin, for him, is not a shame ; 

But Woman must be true till death." 

And this is man's unholy creed ; 

In this he lives— in this he dies, 
And looks for Heaven as his reward. 

He thinks he is a saint indeed. 
And, closing on the eart'i his eyes. 

Says, " I have kept the faith! O Lord ! " 

KUTH G. I>. BAVEN8. 



MY BABY. 

WiNNY. winsome darling, 

Everything about you 
Charms me newly every hour ; 

What were I without you ? 

Wakened in the morning 
By your sweet-breached kisses. 

Not in all the world for me 
Is such store of blisses. 

Prattling o'er your pla3rthings. 

Talking to your dolly. 
You are wisdom in my eyes — 

And all else is folly. 



390 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Toddling in your night-gOTyn, 
. ;. Up the chamber stairs, 
Kneeling by your beddy-houae, 
Liirping baby i)rayer8 ; 

Sleeping softly, sweetly, 

Clasping tight your treasui-e. 

Mother's love goes out to you 
In abundant measure. 

Precious blue-eyed baby, 

Everything about you 
Wins me freshly every hour — 

What were life without 3^ou ? 

KUTU G. D. HAYEKS. 



AFTERMATH. 

And t^hen I told her of my earnest love : 
She seemed as one who did not, would not 
hear ; 

So, slowlv o'er the trembling lips of Hope, 
Sad crept the palsied finger of pale Fear. 

Why should I reach, or ask for woman's love ? 
For though the vine be wreathed with rarest 

fruit — 
With foliage green, whence tender tendrils 
shoot, 
I fear to scale the dizzy bights above. 

Will the birds return with their matins 

sweet? 
Wi'l they build their nests in the old retreat ? 

O my dear Love, I so rejoice in you ! 
Now see sweet fondness coming after wrath, 
The perfume of love's aftermath : 
The past forgot, our vows we now renew ! 

I/. 6. B. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 39I 



SWEET VISIONS OF, HOME. 

I HAVE wandered afar from the , darling old 
home 
In the vale of my youthful delight, 
But, in dreams, to ray spirit sweet visions will 
come, 
JjiKe the stars to the bosom of Night. 
Then I see, in my slumber, the dear place 
again, 
Whence, a child, I have gleefully strayed 
To the woodlands and tields, by the green- 
margined lane, 
All too beautiful ever to fade. 

There, with ivy embossed, stands the mansion 
of stoue. 
And its smoke-wreath of bine floats above, 
Like a thank offering sent to the heavenly 
throne, 
From hea}-t8 that breathe duty and love. 
The woodbine's perfume fills the bland mor- 
ning air. 
In the glad, blooming time of the year : 
On the porch, too, I mark still the oaken 
arm-chair, 
And around are the objects all dear. 

There the rude bucket hangs, by its chain, at 
the well, 
O'ershadowed with many a vine, 
While my lips setm to taste - in the clairvoy- 
ant spell. 
Liquid crystal-drops better than wine. 
O'er the lea, the glad lark, soaring skyward, 
still sings, 
While the cattle are browsing below. 
And my joy-throbbing spirit seems borne 
upon wings. 
Through the vistas that sparkle and glow. 



39* MISCELLAKEOUS POEMS. 

In that soul-hallowed spot, absent kmdred 
and friends, 
While I sleep, speak the greetings of yore; — 
But alas, with my waking the sweet pleasure 
ends, 
For in waiving I meet them no more. 
O, the old home recalls to my fond, yearning 
heart, 
Joyous mem'ries of childhood most rare, 
And thougli care-burdened years have long 
kept lis apart. 
In my dreams I am frec[uently there. 

OBCAE H. UA .PEL. 



PASSION. 

Inconstant did'st thou say? — not true to 

, thee ! 
Thou knowest not the bUssful ecstasy 
A single smile sends through my shivering 

blood, 
Till rapture filis my spirit like » flood. 

Inconstant — when to know thy perfect love. 
And feel that thou art near me, is to 1- arn 

The sum of mortal bliss sent from above, 
Till dust to dust and earth to earth return. 

I would be true to thee as God's own truth ! 

My constant heart clings to thee evermore, 
A» erst it aid in golden days of youth. 

When silvery tides washed all the shming 
shore. 

O for one short, short hour, in bliss to live 
Close to thy heart, my head ujiou thy breast ! 

All other jots of life I glad would give. 
So I might enter to this perfect rest ! 

L. a. B. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 393 



SUMTER. 

I AM sitting in the euaehine, lookiug out upoc 

the sea, 
Which, witliiu its yreen bed lying, clasps the 

shore right lovingly, 
And, with thousand amorous kisses, holdB 

within its throbbing arms, 
Yonder blackened wreck of Sumter, and her 

host of warlike charms. 
Brave and grand and glorious Sumter, stand- 
ing in her lone y pride, 
Heedless of the heart of Ocean which ia 

beating at her side ; 
Careless of his fond caresses — Love is naught 

to such as fhe. 
She will list no tender pleading— Duty is l^et 

Destiny. 

True and brave and loyal Sumter, may thy 

walls forever stand. 
As a monumei^t of glory to a free, united 

land! 
Thou art proud and coy and stately, and wilt 

brook no fond caress. 
Yet the lowliest of the people thou hast 

meekly stooped to ble^s ;— 
Afric's faithful, sad-eyed daughter, and her 

pjitient. dark-browed son 
Tell the story of thy valor, and the deeds 

that thou hast done. 
And God's gorgeous, regal sunshine decks 

thy head in living flame, 
As a warm and Heaven-sent tiibute to the 

honor of thy name. 

Sumter ! All thy I'lorious record tongue and 
pen must fail to trace ; 
SO 



394 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Yet within the hearts of millions it shall never 

lose its place ; 
And the gentle, sobbiug water will not cease 

to kiss thy feet, 
Till the cycle of the ages shall have been 

pronounced complete ; 
When the Fi\u has been spoken, and all duty 

overpast, 
Thou wilt list to Ocean's pleadings, and re- 
spond to Love at last ; 
And the heart now throbbing wildly on thy 

unimpassioned breast, 
Shall upon thy answering bosom find Eternity 

of rest 

RUTH O. D. HAVENS. 



SONNET. 

We met by chance, one balmy day in spring : 
We leaned our soft cheeks then together 

there ; 
Together mingled then br«wn locks of 
Lair : 
We heard the wooing thrushes coo and sing. 

A gem she asked of me to deck her hair : 
No pearl of price I sent— only a rose, 

And a request that she winld deign to wear 
The modest gift of him whose love she 
chose. 

"Ah, lovely rose," I said, " you little guess 
In whose white hands you'll wait Love's fond 

caress." 
Oh, how I wish that I a rose might be, 
And rest upon her breast so lovingly. 
She kissed me when we said the last good-by ; 
In dreams we kissed as Love's sweet hour 

drew nigh. l. o. b. 



MISCKLLANEOVS POEMS. 395 



CAELOTTA. 

Her sorrows came — 
Snch grief as words can only desecrate — 
Sudden and swift, as if a lightning-stroke 
Had smitten, when the thunder-cloud was 

thin,' 
And cleft with streaks of sun. 

She could not die! 
There was in her a keen vitality — 
A tire that floods of wo had failed to quench ; 
And so her mind grew weary in the wish, 
And then itself gave way. 

The world looked on, 
And for Carlotta dropped a shower of tears, 
And never dreamed that in its midst there 

stood 
Many and many women, who would sell 
Their very souls for death ! 

Graves open not, 
At any price. But torture drugs the brain ; 
And in a dreamy numbness it is lost 
Alike to passion's thrill, or pang of pain— 
A rigid death in life. 

Wrecks everywhere! 
They break upon our hearthstones, in our 

homes. 
And make a burial-place in all our h( arts ; 
And many, weeping for Carlotta's fate, 
Are weeping for their own. 

BUTH O. D. HAVEWSi. 



396 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



THE DHUMS. 

O, TH': drums ! the martial drams! how they 

stir m,y pulses still ! 
As I hear their rataplau to the fife-notes 

clear and shrill, 
Playing dear, familiar tunes that we learned 

in days of yo e, 
When we marched ten thousand strong in the 

grand old Army Corps. 

And the gallant comrades then — not a cravea 

of them all- 
How the sounds of fife and drum their brave 

soldier-deeds recall ! 
How I seem to hear the r ti-amp, moving on- 
ward, on^yard yet. 
To the fields their valor won when the f oemen 
fierce we met. 

And I see the camp-fires loom, with their 
fitful, lurid glare. 

Lighting faces bi'ouzed and worn, but un- 
daunted by despair. 

And the jovial spe-ch goes round from the 
lip long hushed in death. 

Though their voices see n imbued with a more 
than mortal breath. 

Of the bivouac and march, and the de&dly 
char^^e they tell, 

How along the battle's front every lost com- 
panion fell ; 

And I hear unbidden sighs that at intervals 
will come, 

When some backward-glancing soul yeama 
for absent ones and home. 

Though our ranks are broken now, and the 
grand old Army Corps 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 397 

Its full line of honored braves may assemble 

here uo more, 
Still the throbbing of the drums and the fife- 

uotes brini^ to me - 
Ever those heroic days when we fought for 

Liberty j ' ^ 

OSCAR H. HAKPIL. 



THE LASr TRIBUTE. 

Whkn 1 am dead, 
Put just the flowers about my bed 
That I HO fondly cherish now : 
Blue violets above my brow, 
And on my bosom's chilly slope, 
Sweet mignonette and heliotrope 
If any qu-stion. you mav say. 
These are the flowers she loved alway. 

When I am dead. 
Come thou and stand auear my head, 
And in the silence of the place 
Look thou upon my cold, still face ; 
And be it young, or be it old, 
One- more thine arms about roe fold. 
And say, I have one thing to tell-— 
It is but this : I loved her well. 



When I am dead, 
O, let my f aneral train be led 
To yonder hill beside the stream — 
The scene of many a childish dream. 
Whf're the sweet violets earliest bloom. 
There make for me a quiet tomb. 
And when you lay me down to rest. 
Say, 'T is the spot she loved the best. 

HUTH G,- D. MAVays. 



398 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



SONNET. 

LoNO years Fve loved ; oh, how can Lore 
forget thee. 
Truest an<1 best, and fondest I have known ; 
Once living loved, oh, how can Love forget 
thee. 
My dearest joy, my darling Love, my own ! 

The world gleams glad with bright and fairy 
faces. 
And home so cheerful seems with pleasant 
sij^hts — 
Pictures and flowers, statuettes and vases, 
AnJ elfiu shadows sporting in the litjhts. 

But sweeter is the face I loved so long ago. 
And the blue eyes that looked so sweet in 

mine, 
And the rare lips more red than ruby wine. 
And the fair b ow more pure than cal'a blow I 
Oh, dearer to my heart her garment's hem, 
Than shining stone or priceless diadem ! 

c. u. B. 



ADRIFT. 

O swEKT the hours of pleasant summer time. 
When two fond lives grew close as buds 
that kis's, 

At faintest thrill of swnging bee's low chime, 
Because one heart so near the other is. 

Wild from the surges, now you wail to me. 
In tones that torture, and with moans that 
mock ; 
Nor sin thou hast, but pure then e'er shalt be, 
Though bruised thy heart— aligbtniog-shat^ 
tered rock. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 399 

80 long, sweet Love, you have been all adrift, 
In Erior's giddy current, strong and swift. 
That bore you far from Love's fair land awav, 
You now shall rest secure in L ve s sweet day, 
Till, cooled and reassured, your eyes shall ope 
On blissful borders of the isle of Hope ! 

L. o. R. 



IMMORTALITY. 

O aoLDKN mom ! 
When, hand in hand, we saw the summer sun, 
From out the east its race begin to run : 

80 Love was born ! 

O glad, bright day ! 
As we together sat in sunny sheen ; 
Together still we saw the smiling scene, 

Love's pretty play ! 

happy time ! 

The hours were all too full of untold mirth I 
And all too full of joy the laughing earth, 
And Love sublime ! 

Though parted here. 
And seeming dead, our olden love, re-bom, 
Shall live again in the Im nortai mom ! 

1 will not fear ; 

For, where no sun 
Illumes the land, or puiples the wide sea. 
We twain, in His glad smile, shall surely be 

Forever one 1 l. o. b. 



400 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



DESPONDENCY. 

I HAT) been more than all the world to thee, 

So proudly tender, so entirely true, 
So stron;? and tireless in Love's ministry - 

More dear than any other soul could be ! 
Thou bidat me crush love out, and life it 
do'.Yn — 

To stamp thy memory from my aching 
brain — 
Forgettin:: all, throw off the thorny crown, 

So fraught with reminiscences of pain. 

Forget I love thee !— as well bid mc cease 
To dream of Heaven, as banish thoughts of 
thee : 
Or , did'st thou dream my heart could be at 
peace 
A|)art from thiue, and bound, while Love ia 
free ! 
If 80, then thou hast never felt the fire 
Of Love's consuming flame, else thou 
Avould'st know 
That bliss deferred, and unattained desire, 
But fan love's embers into brightev glow. 

How deep a life hath Love ! the strongest 
pain 
Could not arouse me from my overthrow. 
Nor summers wash with showers of scented 
rain, 
Nor winters whiten with their rifts of snow ; 
But lone and desolate I stand, like one 

G roping, half-conscious, in a crowded 
etrbet. 
And reaching out for some sweet memory gone, 
Unheeding ways that e'er should guide his 
feet. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. .401 

The world had grown, despite its stain of sin. 
Sweeter becauee we two had hved therein. 
Now, sad I grope, with tears, alone and blind, 
Iw weary darkness, longing but to find 
Thy precious love, immortal and sublime ; 
1 hy spirit's haunts shall still be sought by 

mine. 
The night shade falleth, pitiless and dumb; 
O precious Love-rmy life ! wilt thou not come ? 

L. o. ». 



; LIFTED BURDENS. 

Pausing, trembling, on our way, 
To the burdens of the day, 
Oft in agony we groan, 
Who shall roll away the stone ? " 

Halting midway on our road» 
Thinking of some weary load 
Which we fear to lift alone— 
Who shall roll away the stone ? " 

Thus, with doubt and terror tossed, 
Sitting still, with weak arms crossed, 
Ask we, with our work undone. 
Who shall roll away the stone ? " 

Rise ! go on, and falter not, 
Till you reach the dreaded spot ; 
Then, with deep thanksgiving, say, 
Lo ! the stone is rolled away ! " 

Tread the path where God shall send ; 
Question not his means or end ; 
Do his work and go his way ; 
Lo ! the stone is rolled away ! " 

RUTH Q. D. HAVEKe. 
51 



403 MISCELLANEOUS' POiMS. 



THE ROCK. 

TiKri) of living before it is noon ! 

Earth's furnace-fires have been kindled too 

soon. 
Faint and weary, and ready io die, 
I look for ft Rock that ia higher than I. 

Sin-sick and sorrowful, heart-sore and sad, 
Throngs of wild memcrries are driying m* 

mad ! 
To what shall I turn ? Which way shall Iliy ? 
Where is the Rock that is higher than I ? 

Fx'ieuds have forsaken, and kindred are dead : 
Joj's of my youth-time are faded or fled ; 
Jly future of life is an agonized sisjh — 
Oh, for a Rock that is higher than I ! 

Once I learned faith at my dear mother's 

knee ; 
Lessons of love — she taught them to me ; 
Now my heart qiiestious — I cannot tell why- 
Is there a Rock that is higher than 1 ? 

A memory of childhood soothes me to sleep : 
''I pray to the Lord my tired soiil to keep ; 
And if I should die before I awake, 
I pray to the Lord my tired soul to take." 

These are the words that my mother once said, 
As she laid me to rest in my own little bed \ 
They have come to me now, and in their last 

cry, 
[ am led to the Rock that is higher than L 

I rest in the sanctified shade of the hill, 
Where the cross of Calvary beckons ma still. 
Repenting and ransomed and ready to die, 
I have found the Roek tJiat is higher than I. 



MESCELLAKEOUS fOEMS. 4O3 

Faint and more faintly njy heart throbs ar© 

drawn ; 
Clinging to earth, yet I long to be gone ; 
Straining my vision, I look to the sky, 
And fly to the Eock that is higher tlian I. 

RUTH a. D. HAVEN8. 



TKANSITION. 

Lay her away ? I will not ! 
Ood will net tell me I mnst give her up. 
In this, too brimming full would be my cup ; 

And she must stay. This earth-spot 

Is bright, with her warm hand upon my head ; 

If that were gone, and ^he were cold and 

dead, 

No brightness left. I will not have it so ! 

For now my heart would love the Christ, and 

pray ; 
But if my prompter, she, were gone away, 
And I bei^ft, I 'd hate Him for my wo. 
Lay her away ? O, no ! 

But she is dead, you tell iv.e. 
Then let me never look upon her face. 
And clasp her foi-m witliin my close embrace. 

The soul hsa fled. It would be 
A mockery to kiss what she has thrown 
Aside. Immortal she ; but this is but a 
stone. 
Lay it away, for it is naught to me,— 
This body here— this poor cold thing of clay ; 
I will not look on it ! Lay it away ! 
It is her burden, but it is not she ; 
She lives* and lives with me. 
Lay this away ! 

RUTH a. D. HiVfeKa 



404 MISCELLAKEOUS POEM». 



COME, LITTLE BIKD. 

Come, little bird, again, and sing tb*^ sang 
Once more, that charmed my gladly listen- 
iag ear ; 
Oh pour once more its tide of notes along 
The calm, still air, that I may stop and 
hear. 

Thoti dost not say to me, sweet bird, alone. 
That Spring has come to wake the slum- 
bering earth ; 

To deck anew each ragged root and stone. 
And charm all dormant beauty into birth. 

But oh, thou speak'st to me of early hours — 
Of daj^s of glad and joyous melody. 

When earth was one bright garden-plot of 
tiowers, 
And life a constant Spring of song to me. 

'T is over now — the gladness and the Spring ; 

And when I try again to sing and fly, 
I lind I am a tame and voiceless thing — 

An earth-bound bird, that seeks in vain the 
skv. 

I -ee thou wilt not list my eager prayer, 
Nor cheer me with another tuneful strain ; 

Go, then, glad bird, and waken otherwhere 
The joy thnt never may be mine again. 

RlITH a. p. HAVKNH. 



MESGELL ANEOUS POEM«c 405 



SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

Ye^, love still lives within your heart ; 

Nor life nor death shall bid us part, 

Nor creature nor created art ; 

For, ever on the shining shore, 

Tlie echo comes forevennore, 

Of low love-words of days of yore, 

Reverberating evermorer 

They thrill me with their mystic blies : 

They till my heart wi^h happiness. 

Sweet are thy tears, and sweet thy smiles, 

Sweet e'er thy winning ways and wiles — 

But sweeter far the lips I kiss, 

And the sweet thrill of untold bliss. 



With boding fears our hearts are rife- 
Stark shadows steal 'twixt love and life. 
Pierced by an omnipresent sorrow. 
We agonizing dread the morrow — , 
We dream drear dreams and dread the morrow; 
While each to each sighs under breath, 
"Love's paths are sha^^ed e'er by death," — 
While each unto the other saith,' 
' ' Behold the graves of moral death ! " 
And still each lisps with bated breath, 
" Sweet are thy walks, oh dismal Death, 

Oh dreary, dreadful Death, 
Oh ruthless and relentless Death ! 

Sweet are thy walks, 
Each echoes withi expiring breath ! . 

L. a. B, 



406 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



SHE LOVES ME WELL. 

If mt fond heart can aught divine. 
Her own true heart is surely mine ; 
In her pure presence, peace so sweet 
E'er makes my earthly hfe complete ; 
If this be not true love, and rare 
Beyond compute, beyond compare, 
Then drag drenr da3'S in cycles by, 
For woman's love is all a lie ! 

Though silence often holds us long, 
Oar hearts e'er sing in sweetest song. 
And sOLil communes with soul the while, 
And eyes glad glow, and lips still smil^. 
No vague, wild thought of sad unrest 
E'er stirs the quiet of my breast. 
But every hour we chance to meet, 
My heart throbs new with love complete. 

She loves me well, she loves me well, 
Her heaving breast the tale will tell ; 
And well 1 know she loves me well, 

She loves me well ; 
Full well I know she loves me well. 

Full well-fall well ! 

I love her well, I love her well — 
How well my flutleting heart Avill tell ! 
Eno!igh, I love her well — 
She knows I love her well, 
Alas, she knows too well how well, 
Only too well ! 

I caught her look of fond delight 
When first her eyee met mine to-night ; 
Ker ^oio© wai? low— w]\y did I dread ' 



MlSCELtJVNBOUS PXiKMS. . 407 

Low, but I heard the word^ she said— 

I heard each accent said. 
Over our head the myrtle-tree, 
And this the thing she said to me ; 
Yes, this is what slie said to me. 

Still coy, but not afraid : 
" My darling, sure yoa will not tell, 
If I confess I love you well ! " 



SONNET. 

I KNOW she loves me, by the tearful token 
When she lay clasped so closely to my 
breast : 
The past forgot, and mad words deemed un- 
spoken. 
Doubt and distrust forever are at rest. 

So, hearts rejoined, we meet in raptures 
sw^eet ; 
Oh, must there come new pain, or cause for 
sii;hiug ? 
Grieved, wounded, still impassioned, must we 
greet — 
In anguish sit, denying, still denying? 

My heart sings all the night, and all the day, 
For thee, my darling, soft as angels pray — ' 

Sings low, and calls you ever to my side. 
Oh, precious ! when I seated am alone. 
And thou art not, my soul makes doleful 
moan. 
And sighs for thy sweet face so glorified ! 

L. a. -K. 



4o8 MISCELLANEOUS POKMS. 



ONLY. 

Only a broken heart, 
Only a falling tear, 
Only a withered rose, to date 

The love-time of my year. 

Only an eve in June, 
Under the twilight ntars ; 
Under the shimmering, silver moon, 
Crossed by its cloudy bars. 

Only a hasty word, 
Only an angry frown, 
Only a lightning glance, to show 

Where we laid our love-dream down. 

Only a swift resolve 
To walk the world alone ; 
Only a giant power of will, 

Ciianging the heart to stone. 

Only a brief farewell. 
Only a cold good-by. 
But its weight goes sinking down and down, 
Tbrough all Eternity. 

And thus it is in life : 
We throw our oars aside. 
And clasping tight onr empty hands, 
Drift proudly down the tide. 

The falls are just below, 
What reck we of the leap ? 
The dashing waves are all too slow 
In sinking us to sleep. 

Only a choking prayer ; 
Only a stifled sigh • 
But the soul goes sinking down and down. 
Through Jill Eternity. 

EUTH a. p. HAV£NS. 



MISCELLANEOUS fOBMS. 409 



ABELARD. 

Hencefokth mv path ia starless. Oh, that 
Til e, 

Like some malign magician, had not wove 

His fatal discords in the ij-re of love — 
Malting it seem a harsh and broken rhyme, 
Man-ing the mu^ic of a dream sublime ! 

Outcast and execrated, all too late 

I see the shade of an avenging Fate 
That hunts me to my grave. I gaze a: hast 
Down the dread vista of my ruined past, 

And seem a wrecked man on some deserl 
shore, 
"Who sees far ships, one after one, go by, 

Till, bhnded bv Ma tears, he see« no more ; 
Yet sits and hears, in weary misery, 

On tie lone beach the sullen billow roar. 

HKNB^ S. COKNWKM.. . 



AN IDYL REVERY. 

I LOVE her with a tender love and true 
As the dear heaven of her eyes of blue; 
Around herbeart my soul entwines and clings, 
And gently as a dove it folds its wmgs. 

And now she comes ; I lose her in the throng; 

But ^till my puls^-s tingle with the thrill, 
As echoes of Love's softest, sweetes? song 

Fail on the soul, or e'er the keys are arilL 

She comes and goes, or whence no one e'ef 
knows, 
Nor whither yet her fairy footsteps tend ; 
No pr!ckly thorns protect my Sharon rose, 
Alike from lover bold or foe, or friend- 
53 



Oil fair, deft hands, oh. lithe and taper fingers. 
With words the sweetest, tones of soft 
surprise ; 

WhiJe even now a lurMng laughtor lingers 
In the pure heaven of her uzure eyes. 

More crafty is she than the cianning ssarer 
Who stealeth through the shadows of th© 
night ; 
Still her fair face thaii fairest flower is fairer, 
Axtdiser jjlue eyes «re marvelously brt^. 



THRENODY. 

My heart is there : 
Where, on eternal hills, my loved one dwells, 
Among the lilies and the asphodels ; 
Clad in the brightness of the Great White 

Throne, 
Glad in the smile of Him who sits thereon ; 
The glory gildin» all his wealth of hair. 
And making his immortal face more fair ; 
There is my treasure, and my heart is there. 

My heart ia there : 
With him who made all earthly life bo 8weet-!>- 
Bo fit to live and yet to die so meet ; 
Bo meek, so gran a, so gentle and so brave, 
So ready to forgive, so strong to save ; 
His fair, pure spirit makes the heavens more 

fair, 
And thither rises all my longing prayer ; 
Thee* is my treasure, and my heart is there. 
buxq a. St, 9u.TmB. 



MtSCSIXA2;SOUS POEMS. 4XX 



MMTG OF A. Uf E. 

I WAS ft wild bird of the woods» 

And in my neat was safe and free* 
Till, in the gayest of my mooda, 

Trilling a JoyouH melody, 
I took my flight aero i 3 a meadow, 
And o'or me fell a blighting shadijw. 
I did not atop, aor wait to 8ee> 
I knew it for my destiny. 
It hushe'j the music in my throat. 
Nor could I breathe another note. 
The clover buds on which I trod 
Trembled, and gave a warning aod 5 
And seemed aa if they sought to say. 
Fly, little Birdie, fly away ! " 
I hasted homeward to my nest. 
But quivered with a a etrauge unrest ; 
For still I seemed to feel the shadow. 
That met me as I crossed the meadow. 

It were a story long to tell, 

How oft I trod the meadow sweet, 
And lingered till the shadow fell. 
Where i-ed-Iipped blossoms kissed my 
feet ; 
And though 'twere ne'er so much belat«<X> 
In patient breathlessness I waited. 
The modest, blue-eyed violet 
Broop d in its sorrowful regret : 
The crimson clover pal'^d and faded, 
As if by deadly upas shaded ; 
The cowslip closed its gol 'en cup ; 
The daisy's leaves were folded up ; 
But once I thoue;ht their petals stirred, 
As if to say, " Poor, foolish bird ! " 
These only saw me seek my nest, 
With broken wing and bloody breast, 
And knew it was an evil shadow, 
That met me as I crossed the meadow. 



4W MISfcELLANEOUS POEM». 

I was a wild free bird no more ; 

« )uly a weak and voiceless thing I 
And vain was all attempt to soar, 

Oi- lift my drooping, fluttering wing. 
No more I gailv crosse'l the meadow. 
And waited for the tlarksome shadow. 
No more I saw the clover-head 
Bend meekly for my careless tread ; 
No more I plucked the buttercup, 
Or drank its yellow fres^Miess up ; 
Or counted off the daisy's edge, 
To know my future equipaoje ; 
I only moaned through all the hours, 
" Had I but li«tened to the flowers, 
I still mii?bt gaily fly and sing. 
Unwounded both in heart and wing ; 
I still might cross the starry meadow, 
Unhauuted by an evil shadow," 

BUTH O. D. HAVEN J 



SONNET. 

And still I sit in silence on the shore ; — 
Day is as ni':;ht, and night is as the day. 

For sun and sta s, they shine for mo no more : 
They go to light thee on thine alien way. 

From place to place, myheart will follow you, 
And know vour presence by my love's 
delight; 
What pleasant paths, what shades you still 
pursue. 
Or e'er with smiles you witch the starless 
night. 

Where are von. Love, this drear, wild winter 
night ? 
Nor moon nor star gleams gladly in your 
fa,ce. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 413 

Tinting the fair, soft lines, with tender 

grace ; 
Yet throxirjh the pale, obscure and lambent 

light, 
Methinkrt mine ej'e-- e'en now can faintly see 
In thy sweet face, a yearning love for me ! 

L. O. B. 



ON THE FiEACH. 

I i.AY on the rockfi all the live-long day. 

And watched the bright billows around me 

play. 
While the brilliant, diamond crests of the tide 
Were barstinj in beauty on every side. 

I looked far away, where the sea and sky 
Are melted in endless unity ; 
Where the pink-stained clouds forever lave 
In the sparkhng foam of the dashing wave. 

And I thought if a boat might carry me there, 
To the visible bounds of the earth and air, 
I would mount the cloud that dips in the sea. 
And rise to the zenith unfettered and free. 

Nearer the stars, and nearer the sun. 
Farther from earth, with its wok undone ; 
Further from care, and further from strife, 
There I would Uve in the fulness of life. 

But now, when my beautiful vision was done. 
The cloud had dissolved in the beams of the 

san ; 
A stillness had settled over the deep. 
And the waves were rocking themselves to 

bleep. 

RUTH Q. D. HAVENS. 



41111. MlSOfiLLANSOVS FOK&f»* 



SONNET. 

On, ever dear are summer dreams, and sweet 
The sensucma scent and mellow song of 

June ; 
Sweet is th"i perfect rest and hush of noon. 
And sweet the brook's low brawl at Love's 
retreat. 

And now the sea nnd sky in lore unite, 

And every color meets in rapturous kiss ; 
While smiling summer, ou soft wing and 
bright, 
J'loods all the earth with sweetest scenes 
of bliss. 

But sweeter sunrise on my heart will shine. 
Filling with warmth, and thiilliag with its 

glow, 
As the horizon-line doth broaden slow ; 
For now I see the precious, promised sign ; 
And though the clouds should shut out 

sunlight sen. 
My Boul rest9 m Love's equatorial noon. 

i^ &. B, 



MY MOTHER'S PRAYER. 

Last night was wafted on the balmy air. 
That floated through my window, soft and 
mild, 
My mother's accents, raised in fervent prayer, 
Aad these her words, "God bless my 
youngest child ! " 

I had been wayward, petulant and wrong : 
I had been proud and wilful, gay and wild ; 



But sweeter than the sound of e-weetest soncr, 
Were these low words, "God bless my 
darling oluld ! " 

They say it was a vision of the night. 
When thought is boundless and the brain 
is wild ; 
But never came a dream to me so bright 
As mother's prayer, 'God bless my young- 
est ^ild ! " 

SUXH O. D. HAVERS. 



EBB AND FLOW. 

LiTj-'s moods ate equilibriate. All things 
le^d 
Towards their opposites. Day tends to 

night 
As darkness heralds on the morn's delight — 
Each following each, though both by turuB 

precede. 
And so, when I am sad. I know some star, 
Hidieu below the dark world's eastern 

rim. 
Forsakes a hemisphere no longer dim, — 
The glad van courier of Morn's silver car. 
Likewise, my joys I temperately hold, 
Mor yield my soul to treacherous ecstasies ; 
For thougii my sail seem blown o'er 
halcyon seas. 
With rims of roses, to be over-bold 

May prove too late the fatal scorn of care, 
And dash me on the reefs of sharp despair ! 



4X6 MISCELLANSOUS POEMS. 



CHKISTMAS. 

CmTSTM\<5 is come, it is come ap^ain ! 

Gather gifts for the home and hearth ; 
And siug a song with the old refrain, 

Peace to men, and good-will on earth. 

Christmas is come, it is come again ! 

Watch for the starvnig, houseless poor ; 
Brint; them in from the snow or rain, 

Sen^ not one unblended from your door. 

Christmas is cnme, it is come again ! 

Bring Southern holly and Northern pine ; 
And let the branches of the twain 

Round and among each other twine. 

Christmas is come, it is come again, 
To the dusky race, now glad and free; 

"Wake, Nicodemus, and see the dawn 
Of the good time coming, the Jubilee ! 

Christmas is come, it is come again ! 

Join the ribbons of blue and gray ! 
F< r peace on earth and good-will to men 

Reign in our land and our hearts to-day. 

Christmas is come, it is come again ! 

Ring the bells in St. Michael's tower I* 
And let the chimes from the sacred fane, 

Proclaim the Christ of this happy hour, 

Christmas is come, i^ is come agfin ! 

Ring the bells with a heartier ch< er ! 
Ring out each trace of a feudal stain, 

Ring in the peace of a glad New Year! 

BUTH G. P. HAVENS. 

• Cbaile.stOD, 18«8. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 4I7 



ECSTASY. 

A.Lii grace she is, and fountain of delight, 
Aisd holds me mute with eloquent, glad eyes. 
For she is Wonder, sister of Surprise ^ 

All else is dwarfed to nothing in my sight. 

Oh, when her step I hear along the street, 
Or see her form reclining at the gate, 

How madly wild my throbbing heart will beat — 
How eager for her smiles I look and wait ! 

And when she rests her soft hand on my arm, 
Or gently on my ahoulder lays her head, 
I seem Elydan hi^lits to proudly tread ! 

But you will scarcely guess the sacred charm, 
That bore my houI to the empyrean shore, 
For oh, last night she kissed me at the door I 

L. G. K. 



THINK OF ME, MOTHER. 

Think of me, mother, to-day ! 
I yearn for your loving thought and your 

prayer ; 
I yearn for your sacred and tender care ; 
And perhaps I need them all far more 
Than ever, oh mother, than ever before ! 
The distance between us is long and wide, 
And I would to God that close by your side. 
An innocent, new-born baby, I lay, 
As twenty-live years ago to-day ! 

Think of me, mother, to-day ! 
I hunger and thirst and pine and cry 
For my old-time, infant lullaby ; 
53 



4l8 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And in spite of womanhood and will, 

I am little more than a baby still ; 

And if you could fold me within yoiir arms, 

And shut me away from the world's alarms, 

I would sweetly sleep the hours away, 

As twenty-five years ago to-day. 

Think of me, mother, to-day ! 
Think of me kindly, and try to forget 
That I am not indeed your baby yet ; 
Forget the years that have deeply wrought 
Their gall and grief in your mother-heart; 
Forget the son-ow, and sin, and shame, 
Forget the anger, rebuke, and blame. 
And think of the baby that with you lay. 
Just twenty-five years ago to-day, 

Tliink of me, mother, to-day ! 
Though we are parted by rivers and lands, 
And parted, too, by iuAisible hands ; 
Draw me close to your loving heart, 
Amd let me heal its lingering smart. 
Forgive, forget ! oh mother, oh God ! 
I am punished euough • I hiive my reward! 
Think of me, love me, mother, I pray ; 
As twenty-five years ago to-day. 

Think of me, mother, to-day ! 
By-and-by, in the dim Unseen, 
We shall "forget what has come between ; 
I shall not sin, and you will not chide. 
But, hnnd clasped in hand, and side by side, 
We will walk together, blessed and forgiven, 
The beautiful golden streets of Heaven. 
"Thank God for my baby!" you then will 

say, 
As twenty-five years ago to-day. 

BUTH G. D, HAVENS. 



MISCELLANEOUS POJEMS. 419 



IN THE SHADE OF ST. MICHAEL'S. 

I WALK alone, in the chill, drear rain, 
Under the shade of the old gray tower, 

And now and then, from the sacred fane, 
I hear the hell for the quarter hour. 

In the dreary rain I walk alone, 

Or stand cn the sheltered, threshold stone. 

Ten o'clock, the bell hns rung, 

"Ten o'clock," was the watchman's cry ; 
*' All is well," was the song he sung. 

Bat the chiming bell said, " Let her die ! " 
Cheerily sung he, " All is well .' " 
" Let her die ! " said the solemn bell. 

The watchman is false and the bell is true : 
The watchman stands in a narrow place, 

But the tower stands up in the open blue, 
And looks abroad with its four-square face. 

To the watchiDan's voice it gives the lie. 

And repeats its four-fold " Let her die ! " 

The watchman thinks that all is well. 

How should he know, in his little round ? 
Like a prisoner barred in a quiet cell, 

He treads and re-treads his appointed 
ground. 
But the tower has a wider and higher view — 
Over the earth and of heaven too. 

Ten and a quarter, the bell has rung, 
Once more repeating its " Let her die ! " 

" All is well," has the watchman sung — 
Undampened by rain is his cheery cry. 

But hopeless, and weary of walking alone, 

I crouch me down on the threshold stone. 

No one else is walking to-night ; 
Others shrink from the chiiL drear rain ; 



4^0 MISCELLANEOUS tt>EMS» 

But to me the pitiless moon's calm light 

Is colder, by far, and fuller of pain. 
The moon, in its pure and pitiless glory, 
Alone could tell of my sad Hfe's stoiy. 

*' Ten and a half, and all is well ! " 
Still, through the rain, comes the cheery cry. 

*' Let her die ! " says St. Michael's bell, 
Again re-echoing, " L^t her die I " 

Oh tower, that speakest so sadly true, 

Is there no hope in the upper blue ? 

Yet why should I dread the moon's pale light, 
Because it looked on my erring love ? 

Could it carry a story of that sad night 
Which should find no mercy up above, 

With Him who knows all the after tears. 

The bitter anguish of after years ? 

*• Ten and three-quarters, and all is well ! " 
Still is sounding the watchman's cry. 

" Let her die ! " says the solemn bell, 
And twice it re-echoes, " Let her die 1 " 

As if the stately old gi-ay tower 

Grudged me even this lonesome hour. 

God knows all — the love and the pain, 
The sin, and the weary shame and blight ; 

And perhaps He looks through the clouda of 
rain. 
And pities the outcast girl to-night. 

Perhaps He knows, far more than men, 

Of what I am, and what might have been. 

Perhaps He has heard me wildly rave 
Of the treacherous love that lured to betray, 

Perhaps He has watched o'er a little grave, 
Where I laid the fruit of my shame a'tray ; 

And listened, perchance, to a father's curse, 

That drove his child from bad to worse. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 421 

Only a lover, won and lost ; 

Only a broken heart to save ; 
Only the cruel, cruel cost 

Of a blackened name and a tiny grave. 
Was it not judgment more than meet, 
To drive me out on the wicked street ? 

The watchman's voice has a sleepy tone, 
But boldly and bravely chimes th^. bell ; 

The night has colder and stiller grown, 
The rain is over, and "All is well ! " 

All is well, dear God, let me die ! 

There is none to whom I would say good-bye. 

Brightly shone in the east the sun, 
When the weary watchman, his vigils o'er, 

Looked down on St. Michael's threshold stone, 
And on the shapeless burden it bore. 

"She is dead," says the solemn bell, 

And the watchman whispers, " All is well ! " 

KUTH G. D. HAVEX8. 



AURELIA. 

CotfLD I but see you once again, my dear, 
Bedecked in wealth of bright rubescent 

hair, 
And with soft hazel eyes, so lustrous fair : 
'T were bliss indeed wert thou but with me 
here. 

Could your red lips and full meet my lips, 
sweet ; 
Or could I fold your form in Love's em- 
brace. 
Then might I put the world beneath my feet. 
And thoughts of all but thee my soul 
efface. 



422 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Where'er I walk are strewn sweet buds of 

praise ; 
My paths are pleasant, and my ways are 

fair ; 
Bat fairer those silk tresses of red hair, 
And perfiimevl e'er with scents of fragrant 

bays. 
And oh, sweet girl ! behold the tears and 

pain, 
That o'er my heart must sweep like wintry 

rain ! l. g. k. 



THK BING. 

Only a jeweled ring of purest gold ; 
And yet two lives hang by its potent power ; 
Two " fragrant hearts together bud and 
flower — 
Two souls are linked and clasped within 
Love's fold. 

How fair the prospect is, and how serene ! 
How stilly now seems the enchanted air ! 
In all the heavens no threatening cloud is 
seen — 
But Faith's bright rainbow still is hanging 
there ! 

Oh joy ! to know that her fond, tnisting 
heart, 
Beats ever constant, ever true to me ! 
My heart leaps like a lyre, with melody — 
No jealous satyr e'er shall bid us part : 

But mated souls shall all the sunnier shine. 
As Age its wreaths of immortelles shall 
twine ! l. g. b. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 423 



SONNET. 

This is tlie hour when I my vows renew. 
For now I live in realms of bliss intense, 
Antl fled all moments of indifference ; 

This is the season of fond love and true. 

I wear the token bright on mj right hand, 
And it shall count my bounding pulse so 
true ; 

Tlae golden warmth of its electric band, 
Shall still attest the love I bear to you. 

Our hearts, dear Love, but tender seedlings 
are ; 
They ask but Uttle, so that love doth bless 
Vfith perfume sweet, till buds of happiness 
Expand, and heavenly fruitage surely bear. 
The tender look you gave to me to-night, 
Hath thrilled and filled me with supreme 
delight. L. G. E. 



EEFIE. 

Oh, fairer is she than the morning sun, 
Which tinges with its gleam her glowing 

cheeks. 
Through whose light veins the crimson cur- 
rent streaks. 
Ere yefc her womanhood hath scarce begun. 

Her brow is hke some proud and distant hight, 
Which never feels the sultry rays of noon ; 

Perfect as day, serene and still as night, 
Mh-thfiil as May, and jovial as June. 

Oh, she perfection is, and she is sweet — 
A dainty bud, its petals fringed with green. 
And beaming eyes shily disclosed betvi-een. 



424 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And mouth and lips that make her charms 
complete. 
And she is winsome, ay, and good and true. 
As field of gold set in heaven's cloth of blue. 

li. G. R. 



HELOISE. 

Who was it that said Abelaed ? I heard 
Methought his whispered name. Oh, woful 

me — 
Sad sisters, let it henceforth ever be 

A sacred, incommunicable word ! 
He sleeps in a Paraclete. He is not dead ; 
Upon my breast still rests his darling head, 

In dear remembered visions, all night long. 

Ay me, this loveless world is full of wrong, 
And I am tned. These cloistered sohtudes 
Change not my soul ! On Abela.ed it broods. 

Scill say you, dead? Ab, then it were not well 
Much longer to remain. He is my ov/n. 
And I will find him— yea, although alone, 

My wanderings lead me down the slopes of 
Hell! 

HENR2 S. CORN WELL. 



MUTATION. 

The grey sky follows the blue, 
The black cloud follows the gold. 
And there 's naught that mortals can hold- 
Naught that is changeless and true. 

The sun sinks down in the west, 
The stars fade out in the rnorn, 
And Love, so brilliantly bora, 

Pales and dies Uke the rest. 

RUTH G. D. HAVENS, 



MISCELLANEOUS FC^MS. 425 



SONNET. 

The silver sun shone through a cloudless sky, 
And bright the blossoms borne on shrub and 

tree ; 
Sweet was the hum of the untiring bee, 

While birds filled all the air with melody, 

I saw her tie her hat beneath her chin ; 
I saw her band her raven ringlets in ; 
But not alone were these caught in her snare, 
For oh, my truant heart went roving there ! 

The rude, rough winds with her rich tresses 
played ; 
They madly blew her curls across my face— 
They chased her ringlets m a frolic race— 
They played rude tricks with this sweet rural 
maid. 
How could I less than gently fold her in, 
Or how forbear to kiss her dimpled chin? 

li. G. B. 



THE TRINITY. 

O Life, O Passion, and O Death 1 
There nothing is beyond these three ; 

The simple hfe is in the breath. 
The grand hfe is Love's ecstasy. 

And life's last ending— that is death. 

What is 't to breathe and not to bum ? 

What is 't to live and not to die ? 
Each hfe shaU find its funeral urn, 

But first each hfe must crouching lie, 
And aU Love's mystery must learn. 
54 



426 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

My breath — for years it came and went ; 

But was it life ? A thousand noes ! 
I never Hved till there were sent 

Such keener joys and fiercer woes^ 
As only by Love's thi-ill are lent ; — 

Till I was humbled at the feet 
Of that one god — the sole divine : 

The center sweetness of all sweet, 
The primal richness of hf e's wine, 

The only attribute complete. 

I hved, I loved ! Such life, God ! 

What need to triumph or complain ? 
For each who reads has felt the rod — 

The glad, swift joy, the swifter pain. 
And all the happy, weary load. 

So sweet, so sad, so full, so blest ; 

So wondi'ous calm, so strangety wild ; 
The doubt what meaneth Love's behest. 

The trust of a confiding child ; 
The endless restlessness of rest. 

Such waiting with suspended breath ; 

Such tumult and such quiet joy ; 
Such dread foreboding, and such faith ; 

Such gold, and yet such base a.Uoy ; 
Oh, this was life, and that was death ! 

There came a time when all was o'er ; 

Nothing that I had Imown was left : 
My bliss and pain were felt no more ; 

Of life and'death I was bereft ; 
Oarlcss, on seas without a shore. 

Tliere still remains to find a grave, 
To hide the life that now is dead ; 

To sink beneath some pitjdng wave, 
To feel the waters o'er my head. 

And know that there is none to save. 

EUTH a. D. HAVENS. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 427 



SONNET, 

Beneath tlie old and moss-grown bridge, I 
hear, 

The joyous waters singing as they pass ; 

I see the brook meander through the grass, 
Then gently curve, and come again anear. 

And still the river ripples as of old, 

And sings and dances under fragrant trees ;' 
Its sparMmg waters gleam like burnished 
gold. 

And still are ruffled by each truant breeze. 

The summer sky bends o'er us with its blue, 
And in the mellow radiance of the night 
I read the token of fond Love's dehght. 

And weU I know her heart to mine is true. 
O summer days, with halcyon hours so bright, 
Ye fill my soul with fulness of dehght ! 

L. G. B. 



"SPEAK ME FAIB IN DEATH." 

Say what you will while yet I live — 
Heap maledictions on my head ; 

I do not care, I will not grieve ; 
But wrong me not when I am dead. 

My feet have walked in venom's place ; 

Along the paths of asps I tread ; 
Then cm-se me to my hving face. 

But " speak me fair " when I am dead. 

Above my breast the grass will wave ; 
The violet blossom o'er my head ; 



428 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Stand thou in peace upon my grave, 
And wrong me not, when I am dead. 

The accuser and accused, one day. 
Shall stand with face to face, 't is said ; 

I wait that time, and only pray. 
Oh, wrong me not when I am dead. 

RUTH G. D. HAVENS. 



SONNET. 

My Love a-dreaming sat one summer day ; 
Methought warm tears adown her fair face 

stole, 
Assuaging the wild grief of her sad soul, 
The while she mused 'neath woodland shadows 
gray. 

Had I, then, borne unto her heart these fears ; 

Her burdened breast had I weighed down 
the more ; 
Had word or act of mine impelled these tears ? 

Our old-time love, had it been given o'er ? 

Ah no, indeed ! my Love, she wept that day 
Tears sweet as may from mortal eyelids 

flow, 
For she was dreammg dreams of long ago. 
When love began, and brightened all our way. 
And now a smile steals sweetly o'er her face ; 
Her lips meet mine — we close in love's em- 
brace. L. G. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEM«. 429 



I SHALL BE DEAD. 

Somewhere under the turf 
Remaineth a place for me ; 

Oh, may be, beneath the surf 
Of the deep and treacherous sea : 

To know I shall find it is enough- 
It matters not where it be. 

Enough, that on sea or earth, 

At last I shall go to sleep ; 
And my soul wiU have new biith, 

Though my body heth deep ; 
For nothing is of too little worth 

To be held in God's own keep. 

Enough, whether far or near, 

At last I shall be dead ; 
Forgotten each pain or fear. 

And healed the heart that bled ; 
Far, far from all it has suffered here, 

My spirit will then be fled. 

And thou, beloved — lost ! 

On that day, so blest for me, 
Too late you will count the cost 

Of your hfe's mad reveh-y ; 
And your heart with remorseful anguish tossed, 

What will it say to thee ? 

BUTH G. D. HAVENS. 



430 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



GROPING. 

What will it matter to me by and by, 
Whetlier rose-streAvn were all the paths I 

went — 
Whether my heart were filled with glad 
content — 
Whether I walked 'ueath blue or leaden sky ? 

Wliat will it matter to me, by and by, 
If all my vigils have been'kept with Pain, 

And weary nights bave brought me agony. 
And stout Despair has with my sad soul lain ? 

What will it matter to me, by and by. 
If in the dark I groping go alone,' 
Or stumbling, sLnke my foot against a stone, 

So that His helping hand be ever nigh — 
So that, where'er my truant footsteps fall. 
His ready aid be e'er within my call? 

li. G. B. 



HEARTLESS. 

I MARVEL not you say I have no heart, 
Or having heart, 't is cased in hardest steel, 
Unmoved by naught, unable stiU to feel 

The joys and griefs that other hves impart. 

But once my heart was warm, and true, and 
sure ; 

It felt for others in each joy and grief ; 
It gave its perfume to one deemed most pure. 

And true and trustful all beyond behef . 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 431 

Once— only once— I kissed her fair, pale brow, 
With holy lips, in deepest reverence, 
And hallo-^ed rhoughts of purest innocence. 

Tbe dream is past ! where is ray idol now? 
Well may you say my heart is cased in steel ; 
Its icy chiliness may you never feel ! 

L. G. B. 



SONNET. 

Beaming with smiles, she by the window stood, 
And laughed a girl's light langh and sweet, 
Its notes fell on tlie crowded, noisy street, 

Its echo met my heart in plaintive mood. 

Quick glancing upward, sought I out the face, 
From whose soft hps such tones of rapture 
fell ; 

Ah, ne'er before had I beheld such grace — 
Entranced was I, and held as in a spell. 

And now, whene'er I walk about the street, 
At eve's still hour, or in the busy day, 
My eyes turn here, and there, and every way 

To catch perchance a glimpse of face so sweet ; 
I look iiito each face that passes by. 
And search for eyes more bright "than sum- 
mer sky.* li. G. B, 



432 MISCELLANEOUS POEM*. 



SONNET. 

Yet glad am I that I have learned to bow , 
For oft it seemed the ill I scarce conld bear ; 
But having learned to ti ust a Fatheb's care, 

In patient faith I bow submissive now. 

There came a blow — it filled me -^^ith despair ; 

I looked for hope, bnt yet no comfort came ; 
My soul for sorrow sought surcease in prayer — 

From earth I tm-ned, and called upon His 
name. 

No more I fear : my Love calls me her own ! 
No more I ask her if she loves me well, 
For sui-e I am thoughts of me with her 
dwell ; 
Soft is her speech, and gentler still her tone. 
O sweet, sweet Love ! my heart I give to 

thee, 
And thine I am to all Eternity ! l. o. b. 



CUBAN LIBERTY. 

The sound of glaisome tidings has girdled all 

our land, 
Jftrom the ocean of the East, to the furthest 

Western shore ; 
From the Avaters of the Lakes to the lowest 

Southern strand, 
Of whatever race or color, we are freemen 

evermore. 
In this day of our rejoioiisg we speak the 

tln'lhing word. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 433 

And the mountains of the North take up the 

joyous ciy, 
And the rivers of the South to their yeiy 

depths are stuTed, 
As the grateful waters echo our song of 

Liberty. 

But underneath our shiging we hear a plain- 
tive note, 
That is wafted from the shores of the Ev- 
er-Faithful Isle ; 
In vain we strive to drown it, for where'er our 
song shall float. 
Is heard the mournful alto of the Cubans 
all the while. 
We have raised our voice of triumph, striving 
ever to forget 
That while v^e rejoice in Freedom, they are 
asking for the same ; 
We have smitten back om- tears, and smothered 
oui* regret. 
Till the better natui'e in us ciyeth out for 
very shame. 

At last we stop to hsten to the under note of 
wo. 
At last we turn to lock at the straggle at our 
side; 
At last we come to think that we can not leave 
it so — 
That the blessing we have won, to our sister 
is denied. 
Patient, faithful, sti-uggling Cuba ! she has 
learned to work and wait ; 
Fighting sti'ongly for her freedom, waiting 
dumbly for our aid ; 
And imless we wish to hear her speak the 
mournful words, " Too late ! " 
It were best our needed succor should no 
longer be delayed. 

55 



434 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Do we fear the Spanish tyrant, that so long we 
have been bhnd 
To the cruel, mm-derous hand, reaching out 
across the sea ? 
Do we recognize opx>ressors as belonging to 
our kind, 
That we clasp their bloody fingers while we 
sing of Liberty ? 
Shall we aigue points of honor, shall we fear 
to break our faith. 
Or study to be neutral while our brothers 
are undone ? 
Shall we see them, brave and fearless, rushing 
onward to the death, 
And, through lack of our assistance, losing 
all that we have won ? 

Shall we see the life-blood flowing in a grand 
but hopeless cause. 
While in om- selfish gladness we sing our 
Freedom-song, 
And study musty volumes of ignoble neutral 
laws. 
That teach us to be silent while Right is 
crushed by Wrong ? 
Is there nothing in our story which would 
teach us nobler things ? 
Can we have eyes and see not, can we be 
deaf and dumb ? 
Can we be proud to hsten while oui' bell of 
Freedom rings, 
And remember that to Cuba the kingdom is 
not come ? 

Can we be mean and sordid, and grovel in 

the dust? 
Can we be calm and idle, and turn us from 

the hght ? 
Can we let our bayonets rest, and leave our 

swords to' rust, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 435 

If eTer they be needed to battle for the 
Right? 
Let us bind upon our foreheads the never- 
fading Blue ; 

Let us ask our sister Cuba to join us in our 
song; 
Let us say to Spanish tyrants, *' We have no 
need of you, 

And we will not keep our faith with Cruelty 
and Wrong." 

Let ua take our sister Cuba gently, firmly to 
our side ; 
"Walk thou with us," let us say, " and be 
free as we are free ; 
In the self-same cause of Freedom yours 
8.nd om-s have nobly died, 
And their spirit-voices echo our song of 
Liberty." 
Spain wni clench her cruel fingers, bat in 
vain will be her wrath ; 
She will draw her loathsome hand slowly 
back across the sea ; 
She win turn away forgetful to follow in our 



path, 
iba 



And Cuba Ever-Faithful will be Cuba Ever 
Free! 

KUTH G. D. HAVENS. 



FAITH, 

I ASK thee not to love as I have loved, 
For such mad love as mine to few is given ; 
My love for thee o'ershadows hope of 
heaven ; 

A sweeter worship ne'er a warm heart moved. 

My soul would utter only this wild prayer. 
That thou would'st constant ever cling to 
mo ; 



436 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Come weal, come wo, my life witk thee I 'd 
share. 
And with thee sweetly spend Eternity. 

I ask thee not if thou canst love me well : 
My spirit tells me that the lava tides 
That through my heart with surging pas- 
sion glides. 
May not again thy veins so fully fill ; 
Yet, "Do not doubt me, Love," I glad 
have read, 
" For no fond vow of mine is e'er imsaid." 

L. G. B. 



YOUR LOVE AND MIKE. 

And when we wake Love's symphony so fine, 
Though your strong tones my own weak 

notes will smother, 
BfciH our glad heai-ts lift and sustain each 
other ; 
Seraphic songs we sing at Love's sweet shrine. 

How can I e'er reqxiite this love of yours, 
Whose radiance blesses as the planets shine ? 

My soul must worship yours while life endures ; 
Oh may your soul in heaven bo joined to 
mine ! 

How dear to know love's rays converging ever 
Do magnify sweet faith witli power divine ! 
The tendrils of my heart around thee twine ; 
I kneel in hom.age and in right endeavor : 
And while the stars within the heavens 

shine, 
Nor pale nor dim shall grow your love and 
niine. l. g. r. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 437 



INCONSTANT. 

Once tender words hung tremLling on your 
lips— 
Though uttered not, my fond heart read 

them well ; 
My ears sweet accents caught ere scarce they 
feU, 
While my glad tears sought yours to ecLpse. 

But all is changed ! My soul with grief is 
stirred ; 
My spirit ti-embies with unwonted pain, 
While all the day my sad lament is heard, 
And sighs and sobs go ringing through my 
brain. 

And yet the earth is fair and bright aa when 
You spake low words of love, one year ago ; 
The birds as sweetly sing, the brooklet's 
flow 

Melodious falls upon my ears as then : 
The pitying stars beam mildly down on me, 
And only I am sad for thoughts of thee ! 

L. Q. B. 



EEGEET. 

How SLUGGISH is my heart ; how dull and slow 
Beat its faint pulses ; from its inmost core 
It seeks to Imow thee, and to prize thee 
more, 

Yet vain its knowledge, and its love is low. 

This saffron rose I place within yo^ir hair ; 
But the red rose upon youi" cheek, m.y dear, 



438 MISCELLANEOUS TOEMS. 



Though moistened not with dew, is yet more 
fair, 
For it is freshened with a sacred tear. 



Sweet Love, unto your side I gently como, 
And in your ears I softly whisper this : 
How much of love, my darling, have v 
missed ! 

O lips ! and must ye evermore be dumb ! 
How much is lost, only too well we know, 
And well we know He never meant it so. 

L. G. B. 



CHILDHOOD MEMORIES. 

INSCEIBED TO DH EMILY PABDEB. 

I MADE mud pies in mussel shells, 

And baked them in the sun ; 
Nor even di'eamed a nobler work 

Was ever to be done. 
My bits of broken ware, my toys. 

My playmates fond and true, 
Made up my smn of earthly joys, 

And earthly wisdom too, 
"What cared I for the codes and laws 

That seemed to men so great ? 
Wliat cared I for the bloody wars 

That wrecked both home and state ? 

broken bricks, that sei-ved to build 
My play-house on the hill, 

Within yoiu' walls I stood a queen — 
Would ye were round me still ! 

For age has brought but groaning care, 
And more of iU than good ; 

1 wish I were a child to-day, 
Sunning my dabs of mu(3. 

EUTH G. r». HAVE 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 439 



SONNET. 

The flowery landscape eveiywhere is fair ; 
With rapid step here glides the stealing 

stream, 
All with its shallow, dimi^le, sword-like gleam ; 
And bright the woodland park and glad i.ar- 
terre. 

My Love hath greater beauty for her dower ; 

Fairer to me than all things else is she ; 
Than snow moi-e pure, sweeter than sweetest 
flower, 

I bless the day she stole my heart from me. 

More peaceful is the stream anear the tide, 
So calmer is our love when night brings 

rest, 
Then folded m her arms I love her best. 
Oh, when her waning sun shall westward 
glide, 
May Death's dear angels follow in her trace, 
And bear me through the dark to her em- 
brace ! li. a. B. 



MILTON. 

Oh, I AM tired ! Nine summers have faded. 
And the crystals of winter have frozen in 
tm-n, 
Since I looked on thy brow, by its glossy locks 
shaded. 
And felt that Love's lesson was easy to 
learn. 

Oh, I am tired ! The roses have perished. 
And over their beauty have f aUen the snows, 

And yet thy dear image, so sacredly cherished, 
Can never be covered, nor die like the rose. 



440 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Oil, I am tked ! These thouglits come un- 
blddea, 
And backward througli summers and win- 
ters they tui'D, 
Till I look in thine eyea by their lashos half 
hidden, 
And know that Lovo's lesson is hard to 
unloarn. 

Oh, I am .tired ! If I could forget tlise, 
'Ihe future, perchance, somethiiig woi-tby 
might give ; 
But while I musc'evGr so vauily regrej; tliee, 
'Tv.ore better to die, than remember and 
live! 

Now I will rest ! The glistenmg marble 
Will tell where the turf is pressed over my 
head, 
While afar in the South-laud the song-birdi? 
wiU warble 
Their refra-ins o'er the nameless grave of 
my dead. 

SUXn G. D. HAV«N8. 



DARK IVIEMORIES. 

I WOULD to God I cou-d di-ivo them away — 
i he long, sjvd throng that are haonting me, — 

H'xunting me ever, by night and by day, — 
in thoughts by day and in dreams at night — 
I would I could thrust them out of my sight. 
And be free. 

I romembor a mother, with greyish hair. 
And eyes once bright with tears grown dim ; 

She hes'in her grave, and I huiTied her there — 
I hurried her do\yn to the dreadful grave. 
And vat in death she meekly forgave 
All the sin. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 4-|I 

I i-ememLcr a father, bent and old, 

And him I cursed, in the very sight 

Of his palsied limbs, growing stift and cold, 

Of Lis broTv, so wan and worn and -white, 

Of his tremulous lips, ^Yhich moved to bless. 

Of his hand, which reached for a last caress ; 

I rsmoiiiber the night, 
it is thoughts hke these tnat have made me 
old- 
Would to God I could blot them out of my 
sight. 

BUXn a. D, HAVENS, 



DESOLATE. 

Sadly I gaze on the sere leaves and bro^n 
'I hai; thickly strev,'' the patJi I tread to-day, 
Or on the wmds are borne afar away, 

While others still come floating softJy down. 

But not for these alone make I my moan ; 
My soul is stirred ; despair Latli filled my 
breast ; 
I cry aloud ; in agony I groan ! 
Oh, will my soul e'er lind the sought-for 
rest ? 

A kiss — a tender kiss it was — and yet, 
While for a sign my heart had sorely bled, 
It asked for more, all yet uncomf orted. 

O pain ! that wo neglect, refuse, forget — 
Else had my bruised heart not now have 

bled. 
Else had my soul not gone uncomf orted. 

L, G. B, 

56 



442 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



DE PROFUNDIS. 

Thy sweet, sweet love, all other love' hath 
chilled ; 

All other love hath in my heart grown cold ; 

A sadness palls my soul, unknown of old — 
Its chambers all with anguish now are filled. 

And thy warm heart, now cold as Arctic snow, 
Broadcast o'er baneu heath so thickly 
spread, 

Hath spoken words 't were misery to luiow, 
And left me wild and all uncomf orted. 



ci'uel words ! more cold than Death's em- 
brace ! 
And have I loved, and loved thee all in 

vain? 
And wilt thy heart ne'er turn to me again '? 
Or canst thou now all thoughts of me efface V 
Why, oh, my God ! did I e'er love anew. 
But to be \NTecked on hopes I deemed 
most tnie ? l. g. e. 



COME BACK! 

I LAY me down upon the green, green grass, 
Whose whisperings seem too small for vocal 

sovmd ; 
When lo ! a tuneful bird lights on the 
ground — 
I watch it and its shadow slowly pass. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 443 



O, blithesome bird, pi]De me a warm love-lay — 
A song sucb as my darling sweetheart sings ; 

Alas ! he heeds me not— he will not stay ; 
Like Love, inconstant, he hath taken wings ! 

Why hast thou. Love, so strangoly dealt with 
me? 

Queen of my thoughts, no other hope had I ; 

My life was mixed with thee ; now let me die ! 
I know nor hate nor fear — I love but thee. 

O, darling ! bid thy wayward footsteps turn — 

No longer coldly greet, nor true love spurn. 



SUBMISSION. 

Webe it not right. He ne'er had willed it so ; 
And yet, I feel some way He sure will find 
To give me my desu-e. He is so kind — 

Some path to joy and peace He sure wiU 
show. 

My outstretched hand would clasp the joy so 
near ; 

I bow my head — I 'ineel at her loved feet ; 
I look into her heavenly face, so dear — 

I am content to see her smiles, so sweet ! 

It is not wrong to want the soul I know, 
And He who loves wiU never teU me so ! 
He smiles on me ; He almost seems to speak ; 
My faith grows stronger, which but now was 

weak : 
He bids me lay my heart down at her feet. 
And at Love's fouut to drain the draught so 

sweet. L. G. E. 



444 MISCELLANEOUS PCTEMS. 



"NOLI ME TANGEEE.'- 
HANDS SO wliiLe^ wrung with such soarching 

SOiTOW 1 

O hfinds I smotlicr with the kiss of pain, 
And presB youv throbbing pahns oft and 
again ! 
Will ye be more to me some bright to-mor- 
row '? 

And ob, to feel my Siiuit now so deadened ! 
To feel the numbness that conies with the 
blow ! 
To feel the darkness, dense and dull and 
leadened — 
To think cf sunshines that comes but to go ! 

Oh, can the heart be wrung with deeper an- 
guish, 
Or biain be wrung to fall of sadder tears ? 
Can moments cojicentrate tiie i)ain of years — 
TliG soul more hopeless fahit, and droop, and 
languish, 
Than when we clasp cold hands onco all our 

owu '? 
Eyes will not weep — such grief can give no 



VULNUS IMMEDICABILE. 

And now the mists of sorrow shroud my life ; 
No more will she, my loved one, come to me 
My bark is terapost-tossod on life's wild sea— 

Somewhere I look for peace beyond all strife. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 445 

So slov.ly drag the days ; and still I wait 
For her sweet face, from o'er some alien 
shore ; 

And well I know tliat Death, or soon or late, 
Will give me rest, in Heaven, forevcrmore. 



Wealv throbs my pulse, my eyes grow daily dim, 
And only this is fully understood — 
My gracious God to me is ever good. 
Washed and redeemed, I long to go to Hm, 
And leave the pain all mortal dust must 

know. 
And frowns that were sweet smiles not long 
a^o. L. G. R. 



IN NUBIBUS. 



Does Love survive the cruel touch of Doath ? 
Futurity aione the secret holds, 
And only Death the mystery unfolds : 

And so we hark and list with bated breath. 



Our loved ojies hover o'er us while we pray, 
Oar being tells us — souls of those we know — 

Bestowing benedictions in their way. 
And bidding us hve nobler lives and true. 



And though our dead, our beautiful dead, arise. 
And no more we look on their ringlets of 

gold, 
They are with us still as they were «f old ; 
And though hushed their voices, and over 

their eyes 
Tlie signet of silence still solemnly lies. 
Our loved ones are with us, the soul replies. 

L. G. B. 



446 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



BITTER-SWEET. 

Bettee to walk in the dark with God, 
Tha7a to walk in the light alone ; 

Better than beds of Christless ease, 
A Bethel — though a stone. 

Better to trust beneath the clouds, 
Than to doubt with the sun above ; 

Better to take God's chastening. 
Than not to know His love. 

BDTH G. D. HAVENS. 



DAVY, 



What ? Davy is dead ! Only now they have 
told it, 
Just now I have listened with measureless 
pain, 
And still in my heart with deep sadness I 
hold it, 
And the tears o'er my cheeks are falling like 
rain. 

Between him and me there stood only one 
token, 
One promise, as sacred as Love's fondest 
vow ; 
Alas for his frailty, the promise was broken. 
Or Davy, poor Davy, might be with us now. 

A curse on the tempter that wrought him 
this ruin, 
A curse on the wine which allures to betray ; 
A curse on the hands that such murders are 
brewing 
For thousands of souls around us to-day. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 447 

Ever and always the grave with its terror 
Is closiBg on manliness, beauty and i^ridc ; 

And still goeth on the sin and the error 
Which only in dust its victims can hide. 

RUTH G. D. HAVENS. 



I LOVED HIM. 

I liOVED him, but be never dreamed 
That this my thought might be ; 

I loved him, though he never seemed 
To have a care for me. 



I watched him wheresoe'er he went, 
Ajid far as eye could see ; 

I watched him', but he never beut 
A passing glance on me. 

I heard his voice : its every tone 

Was music to my ear ; 
But when I spoke, I can but own 

He did not stop to hear. 

He touched my hand in courtesy — 
It hushed my very breath ; 

My pulses thrilled with ecstasy. 
But he was calm as death. 



And yet, 't is all in vain I try 

To train my stubborn will, 
Or teach my heart its destiny ; 

I love— I love him still ! 

RUTH G. D. HAVENS. 



448 MISCELLANEOUS lOEMS. 



I^IGHT-THOUGHTS. 



The lucent Moob, with all her radiant train, 
And bright procession of immortal stars, 
'i hat ever ST;eak to man of boiuidloss power ; 
All the glad" scones of Nature that surround 
Our rnorta.1 view, in heavenly anthems join, 
To make most mus'cal the hallov/od air. 
With softest liarmonios, divine and sv.'tet ! 



For grateful Nature over whispers praise 
Unto her God. Oh, ever in this hour, 
Hacrcd to silent meditation calm. 
When fairy forms -tf tlic ideal world 
lircak in tlieii- loveliness upon the mind, 
Methinks a view from ancient TEtna's top, 
Wiicu soon by some poor captive, freed from 

yoara 
Of dungeon-toil, could hardly brighter be ! 
Oh, would that such bright hours, like beacon- 
lire s. 
Seen by the shipwrecked mariner, might sliinc 
Across the dreary sands of Time, and light 
The chcorlcsH pathway of our mortal life ! 

For all the ambient air is peopled now 
With viewless fairy fonns of heavenly grace. 
And thrills to softest mus c, breathing sweet, 
Like angcl-hai-pp, dchghtful, from the groves 
Of Eden's garden stolen ! 

The faded blooms, 
7 he transient blossoms of our mortal hope — 
The calm, majestic stars, seem but to chant 
Lays of devotion and of praise to God ! 

L. a. H. 



MtSCE-L'r.AN1=X)X'-S POEMS. 449 



BELLE A. ACIO^EY, 

A GENTLE folding of a-wearied hands, 
A caiefu! closing of the dreamless eyes, 
Soft treading of hushed feet, and perfumed 
siglis. 
And her sweet ^oul is safe in suminer-land ! 
Life's tliornj pathv, ay tireleps she had trod ; 

So pure her ssoul, let fragrant tears he shed ■! 

Refined from dross, her spirit dwells with 

OoD— 

Eternal hf e is hers, the sainted dead^ 

Her buithens bore she all without complaint j 

Patient was she, e'en though by pain dis'- 

trest ; 
So meekly mild, hers is a sweeter rest, 
In that site shrank not from her toil, though 
faint : 
Vv^ho patient are through pain, He loveth 

best, 
And such i]i His good time He giveth rest. 

L. O. B,' 



LIVING DEATH- 

Oh, happy he whose lot it were to mis» 
The frown that settles o'er a brow of snow ^ 
The tremor of dull pain you nmy not know 

Like grief that follows after sonie*^dead kiss* 

And oh ! the numbness that wan watching 
brings 
To hearts unschooled in wretched lone- 
liness ; 
The looking with sad eyes on deep distress, 
Wlien weary waiting promised better things, 

57 



450^ MISClELr-A]SrEOUS POE^S^ 

And now I gaze adown the vale of years, 
With eyes prophetic viewing corses cold f 
I stand af ace to Time ;, his hand I hold : 

And yet there sweetness is in all my tears. 
I breathe a soft, delicious, dying breath, 
And loving God ajid man, go down to death ? 

L. a, B. 



LOTUS. 



80 MAN! are the ways wherein we roam, 
80 devious are they, and so wide apart 
Their paths diverge, who erst together start ; 

All seek alike some future happy home. 

My bark I launched on an auspicious tide, 
And smoothly sailed I by the river's marge ; 

Past asphodels of Love my sail did guide- 
Rare pearls I sought to freight my fancy's 
barge, 

And harbo.ed m some country strange and old, 
Upon whose strand the Hparkluig rubies 

sliine. 
And flashing diamonds light the hidden mine, 

And rivers roll whose waters are of gold ; 
And pearls I gathered from the coral strand ; 
I ate the lilies of Celestial land I 

L, G, B. 



KiTSCEiLLAl^EOUS POEMS. 45I 



HELIdTEOPE. 



H3, DELidcftis heliotrope ! 

Blooming on some slumbrous slope^ 
In the day's superbest splendor, 
In the trance of twilight tender, 
Glad my senses 1 si5rrendei' 

To the stibtle .^pell that binds me, 

While thy piirple bloom en winds me "; 

JPerf limed e'er with Passion's sorrow> 

Sad as Love's dream of to-morrow, 

Thus in gloom t darkly grope, 

Pmple-clustered heliotrope I 

Now the air swims in my sight, 
flooding visions of delight > 
Spirit-hands with endless chain 
Bind my soul with gyve« of pain^ 
And drench my heart with wintfcy rain \ 
Entrancing music fills my e^r^, 
Sounds of lawgbter, f&ll of tetniS; 
^Plowing with delicious pain 
Through my worn and weary brainy 
Shrouding all my soul with gloom^ 
Banisliing eaeh dream of hopcj 
Buried deep in clustered bloom^ 

sweetj purple heliotrope I 

Now the night-wind, freshly blowing) 
Sets my languid blood a-flowing, 
And my soul seems to revive-— 

1 shall fly thy spells aHve, 

I shall stem thy dreadful tide ! 



^2 MISCELLANEODS POESSSS' 

Purple flowers, I v/ildly love thee ! 

Perfumed flowers, I love thee not f- 
E'er thy subtle fragrance biud« me — 

I love thee— and I love thee not ! 
1 crush thy buds— then bid them ope,. 
Delicious, subtle helioti'Ope ! 

L, G, K, 



l-HE VOICES 01' HOME, 

1 HEAB them f aintlVf and they cast 

A potent spell armmd me,- 
As if a memory of the past 

In subtle chains had bound me. 

I hear them as in days of old. 

When I was wont to hsten ? 
Before my heart grew hard and cold^ 

Within its mortal prison, 

I'hey sound as sweetly to" my effr, 
As in the days of childhood, 

Before I dared tO venture near 
Life's thorny, tangled wildwood, 

I hear them all in this lone horn*, 
Though some long since were riven 

From eartlily music, and have joined 
The choirs that sing in Heaven. 

Tlie dear hom6 voices ! how they sound 

lu memory forever ! 
Ihey soothe us o'er this desert ground, 

And waft us o'er the River. 



MISCELLANEOUS I'OEMS. 453 



SONNET, 

Why- has the smile gone from her blooming 
cheek ? 
Why pale and rigid is her flushing face? 
Why stilled the heart beneath its sea of 
lace ? 
Why sealed her lips— why docs she cease to 
speak ? 

Ah, never was it so in days of old [ 
And vvell I know it is some tifful freak ; 

She ne'er before was so reserved aud cold — 
She ne'er before refused to smile or speak. 

I lavish kisses on her pallid cheek ; 

I call her fondly, tenderly by name ; 

Alas, my burning words are all too tame ! 
She will not hear me, and she will not speak I 

My throbbing heart seems though it needs 
must break ; 

She will not smile, nor yet will she awake ! 

L. G. R. 



DARKNESS ROUND THE HEARTHSTONE. 

There 's a black Egyptian darkness 

Settlmg round our lonely hearthstone : 

It is not a weight of sorrow. 

Not a recent, sad affliction. 

Not a, chastening of "Our Father," 

That has brought such utter blackness 

Round onr lone'' v. c''^/:cr]rfjf; iK^ai':"' ■■-i^-n-r. 



454 MISCELLAKEOUS POEMS. 

'Tis as if some dreadful demoD, 
With its fierce, menacing hisses, 
Thrust its head within our circle, 
Leaving something of its venom. 
In this fearful, heavj^ shadow, 
Like a pall of mouniing hanging 
Over our once cheerful hearthstone. 



'T is as if the ancient raven 

Here had dropped a plume, in token 

Of this dreadful, solemn darkness : 

We are now in doubtful question 

What this sable darkness meane'^h, 

What of evil it forebodeth. 

To the circle rovmd the hearthstone. 

We have tried to leave its blackness, 
To escape from out its shadow ; 
But where'er we go, it goeth. 
And we cannot reach its border. 
But are hemmed within its limits — 
Limits of this dreadful darkness, 
SettUng round our lonely hearthstone. 

So at last, becoming weary 
Of thest; fruitless, vain endeavors, 
To escape the fearful omen. 
To its power we have surrendered. 
And, enveloped in its mantle, 
We are waiting, sadly waiting, 
For whatever it betokens ; 
'T is a weai-y looking forward 
To a doubtful, dreadful future, 
Where the gloomy, grim forerunner 
Is this cold and dreary darkness. 
Settling o'er our lonely hearthstone. 

BUTH a. D. HAVENB. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 455 



FUIMUS. 

Why did my heart plip from its rightful keep- 
ing ? 

Why did I tempt that charmed, that fatal 
kiss, 

Only to meet such mockery as this ? 

sad, sad heart, so full of sighs and weeping I 
And yet our lips have met a thousand times ! 

precious lips, I may not press again ! 
Kisses she gave me, wann as jDoet's rhymes — 

Kisses of love and truth, she said : O pain ! 

1 did not dream her love could meet echpse : 

1 could not think that she so soon would 

frame 
Such cruel words ; so soon would mock and 
blame. 
For oh, so fond she hmig upon my hps ! 
Alas ! the lesson I have learned, is this : 
To doubt and fear, and to distrust a kiss ! 

L. G. B. 



CUI MALO. 

A MYRIAD eyes look from the nightly skies. 
And yet the day hath need of only one ; 

And so the mind boasts of a thousand eyes — 
Monogonous, one soul the heart hath won, 
And light goes out of life when Love is done, 
E'en as the rays dispel when dies the sun : 
My heart is dead e'er life is scarce begun. 

And all too few its di-eams cf Paradise ! 

Ah me ! the darkness deepens as I grope ! 

I hope perchance, and hope against all hope ! 

I try to lift the bm-thens in my load — 

Alas ! no helpers hail me on the road ! 

Still I will strive His pui^^ose to fulfil. 

And bow submissive to His sovereign wil]. 



456 NFISCELI.AXEOUS POEMS 



COLU:\IEUS. 140:\ 

I AM not ^TOiig. r^xed in my steadfast soul, 
8oTne strong, resistless passion draws ine ou, 
Tiii tlie liuge pvripose of my life be won, 

And I attain that far, projobetic goal, 
Att-empted not i'eiore me. It may be 

Madncps or inspiration— God knows best ! 
Yet sometiiing far o'er an iinventnred sea, 

By the svlde gareways of tlie golden West, 
'Lures me with dreams, vast as a Continent, 
Whick ever urge their high accomplishment, 

From which my npint nothiug sliall affright ; 
For I will yet plant o'er an unknown main, 
Upon new' shores, the red flag of old 8pahi, 

Nor leave the world to ignorance and night. 



THE SAME. U90. 

PROUDLy to spread thy fair august demesne, 

I took thy royal boiinty. On my knees 
I blest thee, Isabel, Castillian queen. 

And gave thee back a world ! Yet could not 
please 
Thy proud and jealous corn-tiers; yet these 
chains 

That load my wrists shall not dishonor me ; 
To Histoiy the iron truth remains. 

I die in Valadolia, if so be 
li: comes, at last, to this, and I must die ; 
Still did I ho])e my v/eai y dust might lie 

In one of those' glad Isles my memoi-v loves. 
Bosomed in flowers undying ever more — 

8ea-girt, amid the deep impleachi'd groves 
And violet airs of bright San Salvador ! 

HENRY S. COEXWELL. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 457 



THE SLIGHTED APPEAL. 

She stood before me there, 
And the suow was in her hair, 
And a look of silent sorrow had settled in her 
eye ^ 
'J he sight was pitiful, 
And it touched my very soul. 
And I li;*tened to her pleading before I passed 
her by. 

Her di'ess was thin and torn, 
And her shoes were old and wori}, 
And I saw a world of grief in ber downcast, 
modest eye ; 
Her voice was soft and low, 
And her accents full of wo, 
And I wondei', as it haunts me, iiow I could 
have passed her by. 

But then so oft we meet 
A beggar on the street, 
And "We have so many caUs for ^substan- 
tial' sympathy," 
That it was n't, after all, 
Ptemarkable at all, 
That, Avithout a thought of pity. I should pass 
her coldly by. 

My coat was buttoned fast, 
To withstand the driving bliist ; 
It were far too ereat a trouble to stop for 
charity ; 
So, on the frozen street, 
Amid the stoi-m of sleet, 
I shivered in my wi-appiags — and then I passed 
her bv. 

S8 



458 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

She saw me leave her there, 
And in her wdd despair, 
She breathed a prayer of anguish, half a n)oau 
and half a cry ; 
It faintly struck my ear. 
Bnt I wonld not stop to hear, 
And I know it did not linger till it reached th» 
Deity. 

My home w as bright and warm, 
But I listened to the storm, 
And with it seemed to mingle a feeble, childish 
wail ; 
I screened my eyes from light, 
And looked out "on the night. 
But I heard no other soimd than the aighing 
of the gale. 

And yet, how foolish me 1 
I still could seem to see^ 
Amid the gathering darkness, a slender, shiv- 
ering form, 
And whichever way I turned- 
There still before me burned 
ITae image of the child, unsheltered from the 
storm. 

Thus passed that dreadful night ; 
And when the early light 
Was breaking o'er the "hiUtops, to tell us of 
the dawn. 
In terrible unrest, 
I smote upon my breast, 
And pledged myself to find her before the 
day was gone. 

I stepped upon the street, 
And right before my feet. 
The child whom I w«s seeking, had laid her 
weary head ; 



MXSCELLANEOUS POEMS. 459 

I spoke in gladsome tone, 
" Rise up, my little one " ; 
And gently stooped to lift her— the little 
girl was dead ! 

'T was many years agone. 
We gently laid her down, 
And I know her weary body is surely resting 
there ; 
Yet, strange as it may be, 
I always seem to see 
The visior of the child with the snow upon 
her hair. 

And if I chance to meet 
A beggar on the street, 
Though "We have so many calls for * sub- 
stantial' sympathy," 
I will not dry the tear,* 
But will list the broken prayer, 
And my Maker bears me witness, I will never 
pa^i3 her by. 

ETTTH O. D. HAVENS. 



FOUND DEAD, 

IN A LONDON OABRET, HYACINTH DEVOE, A 
TRENCH AETIST, MAY, 1869. 

One more artiftt is dead. 

Dead in an attic alone. 
The glowing spirit is fled, 

The throbbing heart is a stone. 
I he life went out for the want of bread { 

The v/ork can never be done. 

For five long, weary years, 

He studied a single thought, 
With eyes that were dimmed by teara, 



^6o MISCELLANEOUS PQEMS. 

Whicli fell on the hand that wi-ought ; 
But who can tell of the hopes and fears 
Which in this bosom have fought ? 

Look at the garret-room^ 

And look at the wietclied bed I 
But, shining amid the gloom, 

Is a pictured, girlish head I 
Perchance that face has brightened. the doom 

Of the hungry artist, dead. 

You mourn the spirit, lost 

To the liitle world of art ; 
But my hands are tightly crossed 

Over a sorrowful heart ; 
Like the troubled wave my soul is tossed ; 

In my grief you have no part. 

I loved the artist dead ; 

I worshipped the lifeless clay ; 
And mine was the girlish head 

That his pencil traced one day ; 
But ail the words that he fondly said, 

Nevermore my hps can say. 

His artist-soul was fired 

With the glory to be won ; 
And delusive hope inspired 

The work his hands have done. 
But my woman-heart grew chill and tired — 

I left him to work alone : 

Left him to stai-ve and die ! 

And wedded for home and gold, 
And smothered the pleading cry 

For the love I knew of old ; 
And half of my dear-bought agony 

I can never now unfold. 

I hear the coming steps ; 
As I go to my palace home ; 



MISCELLANEOUS POKMis. 461 

One kiss on the finger-tips, 

Lying so nerveless and numb, 
And one on the closed and silent lip?. 

Oh, so passi nless and dumb ! 

Perchance an artist-soul, ^ 

That lingers no more below, 
Can yet see and feel the vriiole, 

And fathom my present wo I 
Perchance he readeth my heart's sad scroll, 

And knows that I loved him so. 

He has achieved a name 

Among the greatest and best ; 
But not with an earthly fame 

Were his tired labors blessed. 
God loveth the artist all the same, 

And giveth hira early rest. 

KUTH G. D. HAVENS. 



MME. JENNIE VAN ZANDT. 

Oh, wondrous is thy queenly gift of song ! 

Thou thrill'st the tendrils of the human 
heart 

With thy most subtle and immortal art ; 
Thou teachest to be tender, tnie and strong. 

Unto the hearts that heavy are and sad, 
. Thy seraph strabis, attuned to softest hoiu's, 
Dispel all doubt, bid sinking souls be glad, 
And scatter all life's paths with freshest 
flowers. 

Down shimbrous slopes, o'er fields and forest 
lands. 
Thy charm ei tones are wafted on glad 

wings ; 
Thou bjndcst Nature with thy magic strings ; 



462 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

The frozen rivers reach to thee theu* hands : 
E'en in tJie heart of dreary winter chill, 
Thou hringest birds the air with songs to 
fill ! L. o. R. 



SUSAN. 



SusAK is only a pauper girl, 

And this is the reason why 
Her hair is left in a tangled whirl, 

And a fierceness sits in her eye. 

Not soft is Susan's voice or low, 
And her face is uncommonly plain ; 

There 's a look of defiance on her brow, 
And she fears neither God uor man. 

Ou her foam- white lips are no lurking smiles 

In her deep-blue eye, no tears ; 
And we see no trace of the innocent wiles 

That belong to such tender years. 

Her spirit is neither gentle nor mild : 
Her manners are nide and uncouth ; 

Her temper is moody, and fitful, and wild, 
And she does not care for the truth. 

Susan's father was Idlled in the war ; 

Her mother is worse than none ; 
And Susan is left to the tender care 

Of the pauper-hating town. 

Il gave her the cheapest place to stay, 
And her clothes ai*e kept clean and whole ; 

But indeed it cannot afford to pay 
For the training of her howI. 

So nobody checks her passions' might, 

Or chides her with anxious care. 
And nobody teaches her what is right, 

Or lists to her evening prayer. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 463 

No wonder that she is defiant and bold, 

Bhe receives uo soothing caress ; 

She knows not of teiidemesB. 
No wonder that she is moody and cold, 

In the years to come, when her 1 ipening youth 

Is beset by the snares of sin, 
Who shall 'sliow her the way of Virtue and 
Truth, 

And help her to waik therehi ? 

In all the world is no guiding hand, 
To hold her from wanderings wild ; 

But she will be kept by an angel band, 
For God loveth the pauper child. 

KUTH G. 1). HAVEXB. 



FAR AWAY, 

Fak away ! my thoughts are far away, 
Ghding o'er the ocean of the past'; 

'Mid old scenes my wayward fancies play, 
Sorrowing most because they could not last. 

Far away ! my mind is far away, 
Lightly treading Memoiy's fertile plain ; 

Rushing where my childish feet did stray, 
Bringing back those early days again. * 

Far away I my hea: t is far away, 
Living with the friends I loved of yore ; 

Woiild the pietui-e might forever stay, 
Charming me to life and joy once more. 

Far away ! my soul is far away, 

Mounting up beyond the clouds and sky ; 
Here my darksome night is changed to day, 

Here I read my glorious destiny, 

ECTH G. D. HAVKNS. 



464 MISCELLAXKOUS POEMS. 



AUTUMN SONG. 

Now OAHNEaJO) is the golden Avlu- at, 

Blch clusters grace tlie wall ; 
Ah, Autuam's perfume iH so sweet, 
Wlien the leaves begiu to lall ! 
When drearily. 
And wearily, 
Tlie leaves begin to* fall. 

With diamond dews are drenched the j iaiua 

The tields renew their Kpring ; 

And e'ei the frequent I'eitile rains 

Echoes of glaciness ring ; 

Eight cheerily, 

And merrily, * 

The earth its sweet' strain singa. 

Now grow the sbadowK deeper- 
More peaily the dews of mom, 
And cheerily the blue-bird reaper 
Sm-veys the tiheaves of com ; 
Oh clieerily, 
A.ud merrily, 
He sings in the fields of corn. 

So slow and sad the days drag on, 

And though fruits be fresh and fair, 
I long for flowers, and tlie warm sun, 
And the SpriuR-time'rt si)ic<''d air ; 
gayly blow, 
Breezes I kno^v ; 
Bring back Spring's balmy air 1 

L. o. B, 



MISCELLANIXDUS POEMS. 465 



HARVEST. 

The sunbeMns gild the smiling morning hills ; 

The balmy winds bear sweetest perfume 
round, 

And sweeping rustle of the sickles' sound 
The laughing meads with gladdest music fills. 

In seas of waving grain now far afield 
The reapers pile their yellow loads on high, 

E'erwhUe the ripe and far, ungamered yield, 
Rejoices in the favored harvest sky. 

O rare the joys the harvest season knows ! 
The sweet, sad days of sere and crimsoned 

leaves. 
The merry days of brown and golden 
sheaves, 
To thee, glad Autumn, e'er my spirit goes ! 
Spring may be proud ; Summer hath glories 

told; 
3ut give me Autumn's fruits and tints of 
gold. L. G. B. 



KISS ME, BLESS ME. 

Fold me closer in your arms ; 

Kiss me, bless me, bid me stay ; 
And the world has no alarms, 
With its thousand snares and charms, 

That can draw my heart away. 

You are sure you love me, dear? 
Kiss me, bless me, tell me so ; 

59 



4^ MISCELLANEOUS POEM&, 

This is all the word of cheer 
That I Aveary not to hear, 
Only do not kt me go I 

I am with you, am I not ? 

Kiss me, bless m.e, love me, pet ; 
Let the hour be all forgot— 
Put away each idle thought, 

For I will not leave you yet. 

Is it midnight, is it morn ? 

K'ss me, bless me, all the day : 
Through the darkness and the 'dawn. 
And wben evening cometh on, 

Be not weary ; let me stay ! 

Is it m-oming on love's page ? 

Kiss me, bless me, it is well. 
Is it midday, is it age? 
Still, through a^J the pilgrimage, 

I will never say farewell. 

'T was a dream, a sweet, bright dream I 
Kiss me, bless me, — 'fc was a lie I 

Yet — 'fc is madness, but I deem 

That 'tis better thus to seem. 
Than to wake to say " Good-bye." 

Oh, the hour is coming sl&w — 
Kiss me, bless me, if 'tis true — 

When no more I wake to know 

That I only dreamed ir so, 
And am far away from yoii. 

Mine forever ! Oh, the'bUss ! 

Kiss me, bless me, or I die ! 
What a fount of sweetness is 
Hidden in that coming Idss — 

Not a dream and not " Good bye." 

BUTH G. D. HAVENS. 



miscj:ll.\neols poems. 467 



BITDDING TIME. 

O SWEET the smell of uew-mown grass aud 
clover : 
Tlie early fruits we gather with glad song : 
The flowers of Juae the season's praise 
prolong ; 
Now light of heart we roam the green fields 
o ver. 

The peach trees scarlet blush in regal splen- 
dor, 
Or niddy glow hke some full flushed quad- 
roon ; 
Now balmy evetide's breezes seek to render 
A welcome sweeter than the kiss of noon. 

The budding leaves soft woo me with their 
shade. 
While with warm heart I pour out fullest 

praise 
To Him who blesses with the fiiiitful days, 
Aud charms me o'er with, wiles of rarest maid : 
O, budding Nature ! ne'er thy joys are tuld ! 
Only great hearts thy glories can unfold ! 

L. G. B. 



AN AUTUMN MORN. 

I VIEW the sun-crowTied, bright impurpled 
hills, 
StQl lightly veiled in shades of gauzy mist, 
While dainty tints of rosy amethyst ' 

The village lanes o'erspread, and nature fills. 

The maple leaves a:ce crimson, red and gold. 
And red the reeds that on the hillside grow ; 



468 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And pearly folds of Autunm clouds unrolled. 
Tone down the flMne-like gaudy sunflower's 
glow, 

I stand beside fair fields of ripened corn, 
Along whose marge the river winds its way j 
I see bright sunbeams on its bosom play, 

Ere yet are quaffed the nectar dews of mom : 
I e'er would sleep upon thy breast, O stream. 
And dream ray life away in this sweet dream 1 

L. o. R, 



AN AUTUMN REVERY. 

PEi^srvE season, dearest of the year ! 
What is the secret of thy subtle power, 
More potont than the charm of sweetest 

flower, 
And dearer than a maiden's perfumed tear I 

1 love thee, Autumn, and thy witching smell 
That speaks of dymg nature, sad and sweet ; 

I love the influence of thy magic spell, 
Or e'er the year is bent on swift letreat. 

And now the sky is decked ir azure hue ; 
A pensive essence fills the ambient air. 
Pathetic sweetness swings in censers fair — 
Opes all Infinity unto my view : 
I catch the gleams of heaven's slumbering 

blue. 
And live in its sublimities so true ! 

L. o. B. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 469 



THE MANIAC'S DEATH-SONG. 

Darkest of all Novembers ! 

I shiver over the embers, 
Listening aye to the wild winds that blow ; 

Mixed is my brain with sorrow, 

Thickened, as in to-morrow 
The grey air will be with the falling snow. 

Crazed by my wrong and error, 

Blinded with' fear and terror, 
I sit here and listen all the long day : 

Saddest of all Novembers ! 

I stir the blackened embers ; 
My heart cannot think, my heart cannot pray. 

Mute are my lips in whiteness ; 

Gone is the earth's glad brightness ; 
Soul is a-weary. and eyes are in tears ; 

Old ties' are torn asunder. 

And still I linger under 
The burden of my past and fateful years. 

Wasted is life's first fever, 

And vain is each endeavor 
To live — in any sense but drawing breath : 

The glow and warmth are over ; 

I feel the slow forever ; 
And yet, this wretched numbness is not death. 

Dreadest of dread Novembers ! 

I glare at dying embers ; 
Remnants alone are left — their sparkle gone. 

Oh, for some hfe in living — 

Some hoping or some grieving — 
Anything — something, that is not a stone ! 

Fierce are my fears of numbness. 
Dire is my dread of dumbness ; 
What is this dampness, this chill and tMs load? 



470 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

What is this raging river ? 
What is this great forever? 
Where am I falling ? O my God ! u)y God I 

Bleakest of bleak Novembers ! 

The smoke has left the embers ! 
No more a pulse, a quiver, or a breath ! 

May God forgive the error 

That struck her soul with terror, 
And gave such keen and maddening sting to 
death ! 

RUTH G. D. HAVENS. 



A DAY-DREAM. 

Let it pass ; 'twas but another 
Ray of sunlight ii^ my sky ; 

But I will not try to smother 
Its enchanting memory. 

'T was a day, an hour, a moment- 
Let it pass, if pass it wiU ; 

'T was a dream, a star, a vision, 
Yet its beauty lingers still. 

Thougli I ne'er again behold thee. 
In the future m'sts of Time, 

Yet my memoiy shall enfold thee ; 
In mv heart thou hast a shrin?. 



Thougji that day-dream ne'er returaeth ; 

Though you never think of me ; 
In my best and purest moments 

I '11 remember that, and thee. 

RUTH G. D. HAVENS. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 47X 



CAPTIVE. 

Crowned with a golden opulenc3 of hair, 
I see thee yet, as when, that night in June, 
The lambent glory ol" the ample moon, 

Touching thy forehead, made thee saintly fair ! 
Would I could alway so remember thee, 

O Sorceress of Sorrow ! and forget 

Thy smooth fictitious vows when first we met— 
Thy words more faithless than the change- 
ful sea ! 

Would I could exorcise tliee, nor retain 

Thy memory, made immortal by its pain ! 

Tne magnetism of thy violet eyes. 
So held me by their fascinating spell, 
I dreamed not thou hadst slint from dismal 
heU— 

A dulcet devil in a saint's disguise ! 

HENRY S. CORNWELL. 



EASTER. 

BLESSED day, when Christ rose from the 
dead, 
And freed from earth, sped to His home on 

high, 
And beckons hence, to mansions in the sky, 
Sin-tempted ones who captive have been led. 

O, precious Lord i who sorrowed, bled, and 
died 
A shameful death, nailed to the cruel cross ; 
How glad would I cling to Thy pierst'd side, 
And for Thy sake count all things else but 
clross. 



472 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

O sacred Soiuce of everlasting Peace ! 

Thou lioldest fast the seals of death and 
heU 

With sovereign will that e'er becomes Thee 
well ; 
Thou conquerest sin, and bring'st the soul re- 
lease ; 

From dire remorse the penitent dost save ; 

Disarmed is Death ; nor terror hath th© 
Grave. l. g. b. 



NESTING. 

I WOULD I were a biid, that I might sing 
In the glad hush of Spring-time's golden 

air ; 
Tlien would I bid farewell to every care, 

And gayly soar aloft on fleetest wing. 

My httle brood should have my constant care ; 

Soft cradled should they he upon my breast, 
And each alike a mother's love should share, 

Securely sheltered in my hidden nest. 

I watched a nest, amid tine mosses pressed, 
And soft and warm it was, lined to the brim; 
And flowers kissed it, purple, dun and dim ; 
The young birds were by gentlest winds ca- 
ressed : 
But one bright day they soared to heaven's 

blue, 
And in my heart I glad had joined them too. 

L. o. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 473 



FLEET AND FAITHFUL. 

The love that will surest decay, 
The love that will soonest away, 
Comes of wooiDg and coaxmg to-day — 
Comes with frolic and laughter and play 
.Such the love is that soonest will die ; 
Now tearful, and now with a sigh. 
It perplexes with questions of doubt ; 
With a vagueness it wraps you about ; 
Now insolent, and now bowed in sorrow, 
It thwarts and it crosses to-morrow — 
Such the love that will surest decay, 
8uch the love that will soonest away : 

'T IS the love of soft eyes. 

And of petulant sighs — 
'T is the love of a day. 

But the love that is surest to last — 
The love that forever stands fast, 
Uniting the future and past. 
Withstanding adversity's blast, 
Is revealed in the things it may do ; 
Such the love that is steadfast and true. 
Such the love I would have me to woo, 
Such the love I bespeak e'er for you. 
Such the love ever fresh, ever new, 
And mellowed by tenderness through ; 
Ever restful, and quiet, and calm. 

Ever watchful, and brooding above. 
Providing for each wound a balm. 
Oh, sweet is the essence of love : 

It pervades every breath. 

It endures rmto death. 

And ever the heart it will move. 

L. G. R. 
60 



474 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



SONNET. 

Dead, dead ! aud my cold heart lies with her 
til ere I 
Aud thus I drop these sacred, sileut tears, 
Wliich have couie dowji tln'Oiigh the diiu 
aisle of years; 
For hope and joy no more my lie shall shjue. 

But oil, she was so fond, so tnie ahvay ! 
And on her fa th i phined my conseiouH 
tiust ; 
My spirit soothed she in grief's darkest day : 
And now hei fomx lies monlderiug in the 
dust. 



I stand beside the wild waves of tJie sea, 
All on a golden Autuam's hahny morn, 
Wliile inland nod their heads broad fields of 
corn. 

And purple skies bend lovingly to me : 
All nature greets me as in days of yore, 
But she my darling will come back no moi'e, 

L. G. K, 



A CURT.. 



Only a tiny circlet of hair, 
Wrapped and folded with tendersst care, 
Severed m trifling and gleesome mood, 
Treasured in moments of solitude. 

Only a tress, a firlossy brown shred ; 
But he v.'hose brow it shaded, is dead ; 
Love and prayer were powerless to save, 
And we laid him down in a cheerless grave. 



MI9CKLLANBOUS POKM9. 475 

1 ln'ice three years the rose leaves of June 
Over the spot have been softly strewn ; 
Thrice three years the snows have been spread 
Cold aud white o'er that sacred head. 

By-and-by, the rose leaves and snows 
Will cover my form in its last repose ; 
But while I hve, I will tenderly care 
For the little curl of glossy brown hair. 

RUTH a. D. HAVfiNB. 



SONNET. 

O SWEET, sweet Love! one fond, one last em^ 
brace, 
Ere we shall parted be, perchance forever *, 
O cruel Fate ! thus mated souls to sever ; 

Yet sfcill ray heart shrines thine in sacred place ! 

To-night we part — I know not if forever ! 
Oh think, dear Love, of ah my earnest 
pleadii^e ; 
Nor years nor leagues my heart from thine 
shall sever ; 
Ray, do my suppliant prayers still go un- 
heeding ? 

Then past be all unrest and all repining ; 

Too late, alas ! my heart reads its sad fate ; 

How frail thy vows were, it has learned too 
late! 
Yet through the mists, the stars of Peace are 
shining. 

One kiss, one sweet, sweet kiss, or e'er we 
sever, 

And then we part — perchance we part for- 
ever. ' L. G. B. 



476 MISCELLANEOUS POEM§:, 



THE DEAD PAST. 

Bury the Past that is dead ! 
Give it no knell or tears ! 

Bury the joys that flre fled, 
Bury the hopes and fears 
Of the swift-departing years ; 
And let do light be shed 
Over the heart that bled. 

Toll out no passing bell, 

And bring no mourner near ; 
Let nothing know or tell 

What sphit sleepeth here. 

Cover the solemn bier ! 

You know its burden well ; 

You know, but you dare not tell ! 



Bury the old, dead Past ! 

Bury it silently ! 
And linger not to cast 

A flower to its memoiy : 

Such wof ul treasury 

Would woo the pain to last, 

The pain of the old dead Past ! 

Unearth the living Past ! 

The Past that throbs and glows ; 
And let its memory last 

Through roses, and thr-^ugh snows ; 

And so each hour that goes. 

Shall o'er the Future cast 

Tlie halo of the Past. 

RUTH G. D. HAVENS. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 477 



SONNET. 

The theme I slug is neither new nor old : 
The chain of Love, by many gladly worn, 
To other souls hath brought but bitter 
scorn, 

Or be it maiden fair or gallant bold. 

The Love-god, Cupid, e'er is pitiless ; 
Now he is true, and now he doth deceive, 

And now he wrings fond hearts with dire dis- 
tress : 
Who would not grieve, should trust not nor 
believe. 

The sordid earth, struck dumb, lay at my feet. 
My heart was silent, stilled by stoutest wo. 
For biting pain had stopped my spirit's flow. 

Till Love smiled on me, t^^nderly and sweet ; 
1 hen, o'er my senses suddenly there came 
An all-pervading, beatific flame. 

L. G. B. 



ALICE. 

INSCBIBED TO MR. AND MKS. LUTHER G. RIG08. 

Under the snow-drifts, chilly and deep, 
Our beautiful lily-bud lies asleep ; 
Velvety hands that were warm and soft, 
Dear httle cheeks we have kissed so oft. 
Red cooing lips we delighted to hear. 
All lying dead with the flowers of last year. 

Out in that -world where flowers never fade. 
Where never a g' av3, or snow-drift is made, 
Music of lips aid bsauty of face 
Deepen forever with infinite grace ; 
Beautiful world ! we do not know where ; 
Shelter of safety ! our Alice is there ! 

Helen M. Oookb. 



478 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



^lY REASON. 

You failed me wboii I ueeded most 

Your stroug, supporting x'O^^r ? 
Whe:.^. all my life was tempest-tost, 

111 disappointment's hour. 
When all my inner life was stirred 

Witli b'tterjiess and pain, 
I waited for one hopeful word. 

AjkI waited all in vain. 

Oil heart, once so beloved and blest 

Too trustingly and locg, 
I turned to thee for liglit aiid rest, 

'Mid siiflfering and wrong ; 
But dreadful silence came instead 

For all the poor heart's ciy ; 
And now, alas ! my love is dead, 

And yet you ask me -why ! 

Know ! woinan's love Avith patience waits 

'hrough darkened years of pain. 
But time will iirt the golden gates, 

And light her soul again ; 
And she witii crosses at ber feet, 

Indifference, silence, tear?, 
Will stand a Woman, all complete, 

Tlu-ongh all tbe coming years ! 

HELEN M. COOKE. 



THE BETTER DAYS TO COME. 

The heart may bend with weight of wo, 
And all the world look drear. 

While o'er its careworn paths we go 
With nothing bright to cheer ; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 479 

Yet, iu the boaom ever dwells, 

Thougii all tilings else are dumb, 
A low, sweet voice that whispering tells 

Of better da>.s to come. 

Though uiortal ills may to us ciiiig ; 

Foul wrong may silence rigiifc ; 
Within the soul be festering 

Some hm-fc it hides from sight ; 
Still, lit by a celestial spark 

i'hat glows thiough gloom profound, 
Hope's signal guides us in the dark 

Till brighter scones aie I'ouiid. 

There is no evil that can s'ay 

Tae faith beyond the grave ; 
'Ihere is no might to bar its way 

The spirit dare not brave ; 
And, come what WiU to stay its wings, 

! hat seek a better home, 
Within its dejiths the sweet voice sings 

Of deathless days to come. 

OSOAK H. HAHPEL. 



CHABLIE. 

There has beeji a face at my v/indow, 
A face that I see no more ; 

And a form that was wont to linger, 
Has passed Irom the outer door. 

Has })assed away from the entrance, 
Has gone far out oi my sight ; 

But the foi-m is still in my vision, 
Aixd the face in my heart to-night. 

Onlv the form of a stranger, 
But the face was that of a friend. 

Whose words were gentle ard kindly, 
\\^oso smile a blessing could lend. 



480 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

It may be that etiquette's trammels 
Were brokeu by him and iiie ; 

It may be I should have been .sileut, 
And he as silent should be. 

I only know that my spuit 
Beat a quick response to his own, 

And feeling broke forth into language, 
And soul found expression in tone. 

It may be that he has forgotten 
Each kindly and delicate word, 

But I treasure them up in my bosom 
As the sweetest I ever have heard. 

We are parted by time and distance. 

Parted by rivers and lands, 
Parted by age aad custom, 

Parted by social bauds. 

But my heart has broken its bondage ; 

It has leaped the hues that divide ; 
And in thought that is quiet and di'eamy, 

I find myself at his side. 

Speak to me, speak to me, Charlie, 
As you were accustomed to do ; 

Give me your hand bu': a moment, 
A hand that is cordial aud true. 

The beautiful vision has faded. 
The fire has died out in my room ; 

I am cold and weary aud famished, 
.Uone in the darkness and gloom. 

But I treasure with mournful rapture 

The vision so quickly fled. 
And hope, in the great hereafter, 

When Charlie and I are dead, 

Away in the limitless heaven, 
Awav in the far unknown, 



MiSC^LLAiffidtJS POEMS. 4S1 

Where the mist shall roll from our eyesight, 
And we kuow as we are known ; 

There, on the golden pavement. 

There, by the crystal sea, 
This beautiful vision, returning, 

Shall last through eternity. 

RUTH Or. D. HAVENS, 



VIOLET-TIME tS COME. 

The sunshine smiles through vernal rain. 
For violet-time is come again ; 
Buds take to life on bougiis and sprays, 
And children haunt the woodland ways ; 
Benignant Spring with smiles advances. 
While glittering sunbeams gild his lanced. 

Now woodbines clamber, bloom and cling ; 
Now freshest ferns from moss-beds spring ; 
Wild roses thick are clustering. 
And early flowers forth sweetness fling : 
Long hve the Spring, long hve the Spring I 
Wild flowers' rare scent thy crowning bring. 

Then babble, streams, from laughing hills. 
Give golden gleams, bear balmy smells ; 
And buzz, ye bees, in odorous dells. 
While sounding wood the glad tale tells — 
That Spring imfolds the waiting year, 
And glad, blue-violet time is here ! l. Q. b. 
61 



483 MISCELLANEOUS POEM& 

TO IDA. 
On Her Seventeenth Birthday. 

Oh, sweeter is she than a dx'eam of art, 
And winsome as some miracle of May, 
With spii-it hghter than the flush of day, 

And laughng ways, and light and joyous heart.. 

The flush of Spring is radiant on her clieek ; 
The morning sun beams from her violet eye. 

While rosy lips, just parted as to speak, 
Roveal the daintiest, wildest witcheiy. 

O sweet, sweet maid I whose fairy footsteps' 
tread 
Prosa frailest flowers— yet they make no C17 I 
The apple blossoms siffh as she sweeps by— 

The drooping violet meekly lifts its head : 
At thee, or e'er thy natal day be past, 
A wi&tful look tliriee seventeen swains hav& 

cast. L. G. R. 

April 17th, ISTf). 



BITTER-SWEET. 

And since I love, I mourn ! 

For Love's sweet sake I faint ; 
Pains of despair have borne, 

Patient, without complaint. 

And still I give thee love ! 

Thine every act approve ; 
In shadeless paths I rove, 

But rest in Love's gieen grove. 

L. a. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 483 



A WELCOME TO SPRING. 

O BOUSE, my soul J tlie birds now softly twitter j 
Winter hath laid its ermine mantle by ; 
I he sloping hills don their embroidery; 
The dreaming lakes awake with laughing 

glitter. 
Each heart with joy doth vocal Nature thrill ; 

Creation sings, and gladness fills the sky ; 
But sweeter songs now sing the rippling rill. 
O'er Winter gone, and warm days drawing 
nigh. 
O welcome, Spring ! with Easter daisies small • 
Thou bindest Winter with its frosty- chain ; 
Thou bring'st bright birds, and fragrant" 
flowers again ; 
The soft, blue sky, impatient waits thy call ! 
Oh, haste the violets and the dewy daisies, 
And thy glad childi'en e'er will sing thy 
praises. l. g. b. 



LINCOLN. 

** I SHALL never be glad any more," he said ; 

And his voice was hoarse and low ; 
His vein-ridged hands held his tlu-obbing head, 

And his eyes were heavy with wo. 

** I shall never be glad any more ! " The words 

Were spoken not lightly then ; 
For the tenderest depths of his heart were 
stirred 

At the death of loyal men. 



484 MXSCeLLANEpU^ pgiiM§- 

Hi* call had gathered the nation's braves. 
From the granite hills of the North ; 

And many were lying in lowly graves, 
On the battle-grounds of the South. 

It was not brother 'gainst brother arrayed: 

Not so might the work be done ; 
Not so might the fearful plague be stayed, 

And the field for the R'glit be won. 

It was only a brother against the Sin 
Which was found in a brother's hand ; 

A battle, with zeal, that the cursed thing 
Might be driven from out the land ; 

That Freedom's soil might indeed be free, 

The I^epublic merit its name, 
And the jealou^ nations over the sea 

No longer witness our sh^-me. 

But though battles were fought, and victories 
won. 

And their glory was sounded afar, 
In hours of triixmph, there still was one 

Who felt the red doom of war. 

He remembered that widows were weeping o'er 

The heroes in battle slain ; 
In each of tiieir soitows a pang he bore, 

And he cquld not be glad again. 

Tiie cries of sisters he could not forget, 
Wlioae brothers had been cut down ; 

Rachel might not be comforted yet. 
And her sorrow he made his own. 

O Tnan of the tender a^d pitiful heart ! 

What wonder thy gladness hai fled ? 
In each grief of the nation thou carried a part. 

And everv house had its dead. 



MISCEI-I.ANEOUS POKM3, 4^^ 

And yet, not alone for the sons of the North, 
Was his gladness changed to a groan ; 

But he yearned with compassion over the South, 
The rebelliouB, prodigal son. 

" I shall never be glad any more ! " and fast 

The sands of liis life ran dowi ! 
The iron had entered h's soul at last ; 

One gem would finish his crown. 

The writiDg of crimson was everywhere, 
And naught could the stahi efface. 

But the tears of joy— each tear a prayer — 
Of a freed and blood-bought race. ' 

The stain was cleansed, and the race was free ; 

And the glorious marching song 
Sent its hallelujahs o'er land and sea, 

And Lincoln's work was done. 

And when his life had ebbed swiftly down 
To the shores of the Unknown Sea, 

With a Nation's cross and and a Martyr's crown 
He entered Eternity. 

RUTH G. D. HAVENS. 



A SPRING ECHO. 

List the silvery ring;, of the chimes of Spring, 
In the soul so softly s'nging ; 

List the rippling roll, as over the soul 
It far and farther is ringing, 

i:'luck the red, rsd rose, pluck the sweet 
primrose. 
Perfumed with the scent.^ of the Spring , 
And pluck the dear daisieiji, singing delicate 
praises, 
Tunefully vocal as when the birds sing. 



486 MISCELLAI^OUS POEMS. 

Pierce the bordered bowers, for the freshest 
flo^vers, 

In the deep dells of the wood ; 
And of violets blue, gather not a few, 

To ciiarra Spring's solitude. 

These be jolly days, these be holidays ; 

These be freedom days of Spring ; 
We shall be happier after, if we join in 
laughter, 
Till the hills and valleys with the 
echoes ring. 

Let us sing, while we roam to the sheltered 
home 
Where violets and Mayflowers are 
s;?ringing, 
Then pluck these sweet elves, gather each 
for ourselves, 
Wliile the season such rare joys is 
bringing. 

Praise God all ye flowers, praise Him in your 
bower.-^. 
Praise Him in your templed wildwood : 
And ye buttercups, raise your pale hps in His 
praise — 
Praise Him, ever gracious and good. 

Ij. g. e. 



ALICE : SUGGESTED BY A PICTUKE. 

INSCRIBED TO ME. AND MRS. LUTHER G. RIGG8. 

Is IT an angel's face we see. 

With saintly eyes, and haloed biow? 
Where Kapliael's wondrous touch has left 

A vision of the long ago? 



MlSCiSLLANEOUS POEMS. 487 

A chord of music, never sung 
On eartb, rests on those silent lips, 

As if around then- beauty hung 
Some marvellous apocalj'pse. 

O, angel child ! what mother's heart 
Was wi-ung with ag- »ny and pain, 

To see the light of life depart- 
To give thee back to God again ! 

HELEN M. COOKB. 



LITTLE JUNE. 

She came to us m summer, 
A blossom from above ; 

We made her very welcome. 
And nourished her with love. 

She was a little beauty ; 

Her sweet, angelic face 
Left on my heart an impress 

Which time can ne'er efface. 

For four short years she lingered, 

I hen, 'neath the dewy sod 

We laid the precious body— 

The soul had gone to God. 

Earth's winds were all too chilly, 
Earth's trials came too soon. 

For our frail and tender blossom — 
For oui' darling little June. 

There is a little tablet 
That tells where she is laid ; 

There is a little altar— 
The spot where she has prayed ; 



MlSC£LLAi<fiOUS F*dBM9. 

There is a little drawer 
All fuU of folded clothes ; 

There is a little locket, 
And a stemleas. withered rose : 



There is a tiny stocking, 

Within a Uttle shoe ; 
There is a little basket, 

All full of playthings, too ; 

There is a little primer, 

With pages soiled and tora ; 

There are some httle mittens, 
By httle fingers worn. 

Indeed, there is no object 
That we aronnd us see — 

No toy, or book, or pictiu'e, 
No shrub, or flower, or tree, 

But brings to nrind our darling. 
The one who 's gone before — 

Whose merry infant prattle 
Shall charm us here no more. 



She was a rare exotic. 
But faded all too soon ; 

And now she lives in Heaven, 
Ovu" same sweet little June. 



And there we hope to meet her. 

Upon the shining shore ; 
There tihall we know and greet her, 

To be parted nevermore. 

BDTH O. D, HAVENS. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 489 



ROSA LEK 

There lives a little maideu 
Down by the dark, blue sea — 

A gentle, child-like beauty, 
And ye call her Eosa Lee. 

Her hair is dark and shining, 
Her forehead broad and fair, 

Her eyes outwit description, 
They are so very rare. 

Like a cloud at early morning, 
Like the mist above the sea, 

Like a dream you can't remember, 
Ai-e the eyes of Eosa Lee. 

They hare a sweet expression, 

That lingers in its fall ; 
But of their form and color, 

I eaimot tell at all. 

Her lips are like twin rose-buds, 

Upon one parent stem, 
Just open, and disclosing, 

Within, a ]3early gem." 

Her voice, with silvery cadence. 

Falls on the listening ear. 
And her tones are mild and gentle, 

Such as we love to hear. 

But within there is a spirit. 

As we who see her kaow, 
Which, roused, gleams from its window, 

With much of lightning's glow. 

'T is then those eyes are glorious 
As the brilliant stars we see ; 
62 



490 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

'T is then the soul-expression 
Breaks forth from Rosa Lee, 

And this rare-eyed httle maiden 

Is very dear to me, 
For there is much that 'a charming, 

In darhng Eosa Lee. 

KUTH G. D. havens. 



GREETING, 

O, AZURE skj', so mellow and so clear ; 

O, laughing days, the spring-time of the year ! 

Ye fill my heart with hope that shuts out fear. 

O, vernal days, of fresh and balmy weather ; 
O, glorious days, of perfumed violet weather ! 
Gladly my Love and I walk out together. 

The bloom of spring is on my darling's cheek ; 
The smiling daisies greet her as to speak, 
And dainty violets vie to kiss her feet. 

White roses greet her at the dawn of day ; 
The tuneful birds pipe her a bhthesome lay. 
And Nature greets her in green vestments gay. 

Dear Love, sweet Love, my soul, my life, my 

hght! 
My thoughts thou fill'st by day, my dreams by 

night ; 
Thy faith shall hold me, guardian angel bright ! 

L. o. R. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 49I 



CORA. 

She is only a little servant girl, 
But yet she is somebody's eliild ; 

And I want to see her like other ones- 
Playful, and sportive, and wild. 

My children are wont to frolic in glee, 
With the joy they rightly know ; 

And if I take Baby up to my knee, 
He will chuckle, and laugh, and crow. 

But when I give him again to her care, 

He quickly nestles him down, 
And strokes her face, with a sober air, 

Wliich is quite unlike his own. 

I know she is always gentle and mild, 
But her glances are stem and cold ; 

And although in years she is still a child, 
In heart} she is very old. 

No wonder the children grow thoughtful and 
stiU, 

And the baby is hushed to rest ; 
They read, by a sense that is inborn and true, 

The face to which they are pressed. 

She told me her father was lost at sea *, 

And she dreads the solemn roar 
Of the beautiful waves, that look glad to me, 

As they break upon the shore. 

It i3 rarely a smile is seen on her face, 

And then it is shadowy thin. 
And seems to freeze in its resting place, 

As the heart is frozen within. 

Poor child ! and poor heart that is not a 
child's! 
The waves have covered thy soul, 



49-2 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS- 

And over thy father's breast and thine, 
Alike they darkly roll 1 

Pray God they may bear her far away 
From this dull, dread void of emotion, 

Out from the bounds of this tui'bid sea. 
To the leaping, hmitless Ocean ! 

RUTH G. D. HAVENS. 



THE FALLEN LEAF. 

The days are warm and mild ; 

No tempest rude or wild 
Hath fiercely torn thee from the parent bough; 

'J he season doth not call, 

And why so soon to fall — 
So soon unto decay's dread cenotaph doth go ? 

Soft clouds sail tlirough the sky, 

And balmy winds go by, 
Freighted with scents of blossoms, as they 
pass; 

A solemn calm divine 

Fills all the ether clime — 
And this thy triumph horn* — of death, alas ! 

Unto luxuriant skies, 

Fresh nature's odors rise. 
While on the plains the lowing herds are 
heard ; 

The farmer's toil is done. 

Now settuig is the sun, 
And vesper praises sings the weary bird. 

Gleaming in flood of light, 

How glorious is the sight 
Night's sable curtains to the soul afford ; 

Gorgeous ie heaven's dome, 

Emijurpled clouds move on, 
And only man is natui'e's primal lord ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 493 

And oh, thy Ife, sere leaf, 
So fragile and so brief, 
Is but a tyi^e of man's ; for soon the tomb 
Must claim the fair and bright. 
The household elfin spx-ite, 
'I he fairest, daintiest form, 
The saintliest natures warm : 
The thoughtful, cheerful, gay, 
Ahke are borne away. 
And soon our hearts enshrouded are in gloom: 
Death comes — and man is dead ; 
Man sleeps — his spirit 's fled. 
And with the flight 
Comes darkest night: 
Then turn we tmto Heaven for sweetest rest ; 
Beseech we peace for Christ's new sainted 

guest, 
We praise His name who doeth what is 
best. L. G. K. 



FALLING LEAVES. 

How forcibly Nature speaks of decay — 
How strong are the emblems she weaves ; 

But there's nothing that seems to me to say 
Half so much as the falling leaves. 

Death speaks to us with an iron toneue, 
When friends in the churchyard grieve, 

But with far more power when walking among 
The scattered and falling leaves. 

Decay is written in every place, 

That we may not be deceived ; 
But a pen of diamond seems to trace 

Its legend in fallen leaves. 

BUTH G. D. HAVENS. 



494 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



FARE\^^LL. 

'Tis hard to say G)od-by. when tears are 
faUing 
On many a hearth-stone, for a loved one 
slain ; 
Yet proudly you obey your country's calling, 
And hope a safe return to friends again. 

We gladly bid you go : and may He guide you, 
Who is the God of Battles and of Peace : 

Go in His name, and whate'er fate betide you. 
His love and care for you will never cease. 

We will remember you at early morning, 
At sunny noon, 'mid evening's quiet joys ; 

In happy youth, and stiU hfe's lapse adorning, 
Shall he the memoiy of our Soldier Boys. 

EUTH G. D. HAVENS. 



THE BAPTISM. 

It was God's holy day. 
And to th' accustomed place of praise and 

prayer. 
The people flocked to hear the words of truth, 
From lips that ever loved to utter them. 
And taste the emblems of the dying love 
Of Him who hung on Calvaiy's cniel tree. 

And to the house a man had brought his child, 
To consecrate its early life to God. 
Before the altar stood the little g. oup. 
Husband, and ydie, and babe ; when from the 

choir 
Broke forth the sounds of joyful melody. 
It was a moment of intense surprise, 
That left through all the house a sacred hush. 
It seemed as if the ransomed ones above. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 495 

And holy angels round the golden throne, 

Had now begun a new and rapturous song, 

To celebrate a parent's offering : 

A sinless little one, a pure white lamb. 

Laid on the altar of Eedetniing Love ; 

For even while the waters touched her brow, 

The echoing notes died out upon the air. 

Blest child ! and doubly consecrate to Goi>, 
In prayer for mercy, and in praise for grace ; 
lu humble supplication, and m song. 
Oh, may thy fresh young life be future meet 
For joying at thy first unconscious vows. 
God bless thee, little one ! and let thy youth 
Be but a constant flowing out of song, ' 
An issuing of hfe's sweetest melodies, 
In loving words, and kindly deeds, to all 
Whom thou shalt bless with tiiy dear pres- 
ence here. 

RUTH O. D. HAVENS. 



IT MUST BE SO. 

Now the sweet wood-violets wake. 
Now the fields theu- green garb take, 
Now the willows' tassels shake. 
Now the lakes low music make. 
Now glad streams in sunlight leap. 
Waking from their dreamless sleep ; 
All the world is bhthe and gay — 
Nature smiles the live-long day ; 
Yet to me the w^orld is drear 
As the winter of the year ; 
Brightest blooms seem dead and sere, 
Since my love she is not here. 

Bare, red rose ! thy beauty pales ; 
Subtle scents, thy perfume fails ; 
Queen-flower of the bright DarteiTe, 
Veiled thy light were she anear ! 



496 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Twinkling stars that stud the skies, 
Brighter gleam her lustrous eyes — 
Sparkling gems of azure nue, 
Token of a warm heart ti-ue, 
Softer than the f.ky above, 
Filled with tendernes-i and love : 
Oh, bewitching is the grace 
Gleaming from her sainted face ! 
Sweat she is, and pure, and tnie, 
Ard all too fair for mortal view. 

Waiteth her couch her form's impress ; 

Good night, sweet Love ! one fond caress, 

Ere you are parted from my view : 

Good night, sweet Love ! so fond, so true ; 

How iimch I love, you may not know, 

But stronger stiD my love must grow — 

It must be so — my love must grow ! 

Thou hold'st my soul in magic spell. 

But why it is, I cannot tell ; 

But this I know, my love must grow — 

It must be so — it must be so ! l. G. B 



PROBLEM. 

I WELCOME now the wild, fierce wind, 
For life hath grown so di'ear and cold ! 

Where'er I stray, e'erwhere I find 
The treacherous sands of days of old. 

JMy sad lips press the cup of strife ; 

Youth past, age brings an aching void ! 
And only Love can sweeten life— 

Of Dead-sea fru.ts I long have coycd. 

Shall I go down to Death, at last. 
Serenely smiling at Despau* — 

The perils of this calm o'erj^ast, 
Celestial bays to win and wear ? l. g. 1 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 497 



MOTHER. 

The Mayday has come again, Mother, 

And I am far away ; 
And yet I cannot forget, mother, 

You are fifty years old to-day. 
'T would be to me the sweetest of bUss, 
To press your hps in a birthday kiss. 

I am looking back to the years, mother, 

When I have been at your side ; 
And the blessing I so crave, mother, 

Was never then denied. 
Were I once again a child at home, 
My truant feet nevermore should roam. 

I am coming home to you soon, mother, 

But too late for your natal day ; 
Yet the meeting shall be more sweet, mother, 

For all this painful delay ; 
And the kises of re-union shall give us more 

pride 
Because it has been so long denied. 

Yet I long for you so to-day, mother. 

And the scenes I love so well, 
And the memories rushing up, mother, 

Ai'e more than I can tell, 
Of the study, the rocks, and the trees by the 

door, 
And the dear home-friends that I love far 



You will sadly miss me to-day, mother. 
And the knowledge is sweet to me : 

And yet, could I come to you, mother, 
How much greater the pleastue would be ! 

I would gather the brightest flowers of spi'ing, 

Love's freshest and fairest offering. 

KUTH G. D. HAVENS. 
63 



498 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



THE PRIMAL FLOWERS OF MAY. 

We bring bright buds to deck each hero'* 
grave ; 
We strew fresh flowers above each patriot 
head ; 
Laurels we bear as dark as ocean's wave, 
To deck the ashes of our mart^ied dead. 

From gardens fair, from purple forest gloonu 
We Driiig the earUest wealth of shrub and 
vine ; 

The sad memorial wreaths of blushing bloom- 
Dear immortelles, and saintly elgantine. 

Tlie stairy flag, beneath whose folds they 

fell, 

Drooping with ciai)e salutes the tearful 

earth ! 

Our holy dead — their daring, who shall tellV — 

Who hymn the story of tlieir sacred worth ? 

Sleep, sleep ye hei'oes ! ye are God's and 



ours 



Let kindly Natiire her sweet influence bring. 
To nurse the early spring-time regal flowers, 
With which to wreathe a grateful offering. 

Grow, grow Great Heart ! expand, and on- 
wai-d bear 
The fruits of Peace, the blooms of Charity ! 
Our Great Repubhc shield, with constant 
care — 
Its corner-stone, the aantUest memory ! 



MiSCELLA*IEOUS POEMS. 490 

Oue Laud, one People !— O, glad, glorious 
day ! 
One tongue, one faith, oue Hope, oue 
Destiny ! 
Uuited for all time, the Blue and Gray — 
One Autograph, the primal Flowers of May. 

L, Q. B. 



UNION. 

Glad friends are met : 
Some liappy voices blend in gayety, 
Some eyes are wet. 

The marriage vow 
Id spoken, with a thrill that comes but ouce ! 
'T is over now ! 

And so the two are one : 
Two hearts that throbbed with melodies distinct 
Now beat in unison. 

KUTH G. r>. HAVENS. 



PRETERITION. 

In days to come — in near or distant time — 
You wQl forget those fateful acts of mine. 
Thy image still within my soul is set ; 
The faith I gave thee, thou canst ne'er forget. 

Oh, think how fond my love for thee — how 

sweet ! — 
How thrilled my heart -how quick its pules 

beat, 
Till, spm-ned by thee, forsaken, and denied, 
My tortured heart was ruthless crucified ! 

li. a. B. 



500 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 



PAETED. 

There came a little stranger to our home, 
And with her, Heaven's brightness to our 

hearts. 
But those who saw her eyes unclose at first, 
And those who watched them growing dim at 

last, 
All said, " She is too beautiful for earth ! " 
There was a holy look upon her lace, 
A look that only sinless ones can wear. 
Nor wear it long except it be in heaven. 
A few short hours she meekly bore the ties 
That held her spirit from its upward flight, 
And left her fair form in our clingiug arms ; 
Then, weary of her pain, she gently died. 
As if her Christ were singing her to sleep, 
CioD made her perfect in three hallowed days, 
Then called her up to His eternal home. 

RUTH a. D. HAVENS. 



NINE YEARS OLD TO-DAY. 

I've something beautiful to say ; — 

Hurry, sweet Jessie, dear ! 
You know I told you, yesterday, 

My birthday was so near. 
Last night, after my prayers were said, 

Before we kissed " good night," 
And mamma tucked me in my bed, 

Or took away the light. 

She said. "Dear, in a day or two, 
You will be nine years old ; 

"What present shall I get for you ?— 
A shining rhig of gold — 



MISCELLANEOUS 1?kjEM:S. 50I 

A picture-book, or bird, or toy? " 

I said : " A doll, the size 
Of one I have ; but get a boy, 

That laughs, and winks his eyes. 

For Doll, like me, is often sad ; 

No brother dear to love ; 
And that will make us both so glad— 

You '11 see how good I '11 prove." 
She kissed rae o'er and o'er again — 

Dear mother lips ! dear tearful face ! 
I saw it then, how care and pain 

Had left with her their trace. 

No thought of boy-dolls or of sleep — 

l\Iy eyes were wide awake ; 
I prayed to God that He would keep 

Me good, for His dear sake. 
But here — I 'm crying : so are you ! 

I've something' sweet to say,' 
And something beaiitiful to show ; 

So wipe the tears away. 

Now listen, Jessie : I have brought — 

Guess what ? My birthday gift !— 
A baby-brother, mother bought, 

As big as I can lift ! 
And he can wink his cunning eyes. 

And has warm flesh, like mine ! 
Did ever child have such a prize, 

Whose years just number nine ? 

HELEN M. COOKE. 



ALONE. 

Alone ! O God ! that e'er that word should 

ring 
Its knell so loudly in my weary heart. 
And stir the saddest depths within my soul, 



502 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

By its vibrations, piercing to the core 
Of sense, of soul, of self, of all I am. 
And making life, instead of one vast field 
For juyousness and honest sympathy, 
A great blank waste, ^vherein I only stand 
And gaze forever on its nothingness. 
Though it be wide as heaven and deep as hell. 
And peoi)led thick as lain-drops in a shower. 

I sta' d alone, and Htretcliing out a hand 

I grasp and close on utter vacancy. 

And take its desolation to rny heart 

As one might freeze a ghastly wound with ice, 

Or stop the throbbing of the quickened blood 

By piessing marble on the leaping veins. 

So, when my heart is faint, and sore, and cold, 

I hug my loneliness the closer still. 

And smile to know I am a frozen thing. 

And yet God never meant it so to be, 
"When m my heart He planted Sympathy, 
And taught me how to love, with purer fire 
Than an unhallowed feelhig can inspire. 

Why did He quicken me to know so well 
The hopes and joys that in my bosom swell 
And perish, leaving only dreary void, 
And aching which will not be satisfied ? 

I will not murmur. No : His will be done ! 
'T is not in vain that I am left alone. 
For love which finds no tie on which to cling, 
Will mount to heaven, a sweeter offering. 

Untrammeled bv the gyves that bind to earth, 
My spirit ^hall attain a nobler worth. 
Till, waking at the Resurrection-tide, 
In His blest hkeness I am satisfied. 

BUTH O. D. HAVENS. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 503 



MONUMENTUM ^RE PERENNIUS. 

Oh, biotliei"8 of ours, 
We bring thee bright flowers. 
The blossoms of May, with their subtle per- 
fume— 
Chaplets gaiued in the strife, 
Laurels won with your life 
Lov ^ brings as adomings to garla ;d your 
tomb. 

O hearts that beat high ! 

O hopes doomed to die ! 
O hearts that so yearned for fond homes 
far away !— 

O souls till eel with love ! 

O souls borne above 
To enter His rest from the Held of the fray : — 

A shaft we have reared 

To thy names so I'evered — 
Its tablets with legends of valor abo'aud ! 

Oh, peaceful thy rest 

As the penitent breast ; 
Our Mecca be ever the Moniiment groimd ! 

While pfeaus of praise, 

With sad heart we raise 
Not alone to the fallen of hearth and of home ; 

Alike claim a share 

Of oui praises and prayer, 
The heroes who sleep in ' the graves yet 
'^Unknown!" 

The soldier's farewell, 

The unshotted knell 
As on field or on march, is our last fond salute ; 

Booming o'er land and sea. 

The sharp musketry 
Shall reach m high Heaven, heaits here still- 
ed ajd mute. 



504 MISCELLAKEOUS POEMS. 

Wlien the Great Tramp shall sound, 

Each iu place shall be found 
To join the long column, for final review ; 

While glad heralds wait 

Your proud corps, at the Gate, 
And the guard will salute as the hue marches 
through. 

O, saviors of Home ! 
In ages to come, 
Down through the dim aisles, youx praisea 
shall ring ! 
A'bright crown is yours 
In tlie Life that endures — 
"Who dies for mankind, makes a Chbist- 
offerinK ! l. g. b. 



GOODBY. 



GooD-BY, we sav, and give our dearest blessing, 
E'erwhile the heart is filled with bitter pain ; 

Good by; tbewealine-s of the soul confessing, 
We feel our strength is impotent and vain. 

Good-by, good by ! alas, the tears are starting ! 

Oh, may He shield and keep you sinless ever; 
Good-by ! warm tears in rivers "flow at parting ; 

Trust Him whose love and care shall fail you 
never. 

Good-by, good-by ! Our lips h ive met in love ! 

Sad is the parting ; but His face draws near ; 
And well wo know we meet again above. 

Where His glad smiles wreathe an Eternal 
Year ! l. g. e. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 505 



MUTATION. 

Okce smoothly sailed along a tranqtiil sea, 
My argosies of dreams, with fruits of years 
Full freighted, till a stormy flood of tears 

At once swept hope and joy and peace from me ! 

Now earth is sad and dark ; the shore and sea 
Are swept by adverse winds ; the demon 
Death 

Hath ruthless torn my dearest pearls from me— 
Yea, all I loved is blasted by his breath ! 

Once Love her jewels lavished at my feet, 
And all before me seemed a path of flowers, 
And redolent of bloom were all my bowers ; 

Ambrosial dews and sent-uous pleasures sweet. 
Then came last kisses, and desponding sighs, 
Deathless regret8,and sorrow-streaming eyes. 

L. o. B. 



ASSURGENCY. 



Atteb life's weary way, its wars and worry, 
After vexatious wrongs, hardships and hurry, 
There comes a sacred calm to soothe its sor- 
row ; 
The soul refreshed, from heaven shall sur- 
cease borrow. 

Since Death sweet sleep brings to awearied 



The soul upUfted is to Paradise ; 
64 



506 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS:v 

Earth's base alloy is fully purged away- 
Refined the dross from nature's sensuous clay^ 



Then bravely fight for Justice and for Right ; 
So shall your sleep be soft as shade of night ; 
Nor sorrow's storm shall e'er disturb your 

calm, 
But every breeze shall waft a soothing balm, 

I/. G. B^ 



Foa 



There is rain in the east, and the heavy crow 
Along the pasture flyeth low ; 
While over the moorland's world of bog, 
Silently floats the phantom fog. 

Whether day or night, it is hard to tell, 
And the dull farms drowse in the doubtful spell^ 
And my sad thoughts mixed with shadows gray^ 
Rise not with the vague^ half -dormant day. 

Vaporous fringes, silver-white, 
Trail to the vanishing skirts of night, 
And up and along the mountain side, 
Ghost- white, the giant shadows glide. 

So, oft through Memory's twihght shade. 
Wraiths of the dead years flit and fade. 
Which never again on earth are caught. 
But haunt forever the streams of thought. 

Mist-monsters they ! unreal and vast, 

That brood o'er the wrecks of a ruined past— 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 507 

Bream-genii, bom of a troubled mind, 

That rise with the sunset to walk with tho wind ! 

I stand where the river eddies whirl 

In many a swift and glassy curl. 

Where the weeping willows ceaselessly drip, 

And the bubbles burst on the hly's lip. 

What makes the alders shiver so, 
As they lean o'er the treacherous pools below ? 
Do the reeds as they whisper together there 
Guess at the secret of my despair ? 

Yet well I know these clouds but hide. 
The visions that gleam on the other side ; 
And the quenchless lamps of love still glow, 
In the sad heart's deepest crypts of wo. "^ 

For a face looks in through the cloudy rifts, 
As the spectral scenery shdes and shifts. 
And a whisper comes, in a tone divine — 
The fog must melt, and the sun shall shine. 

Patience ! the world in which we seem, 
Is only a swiftly-changing dream ; 
A brief mu'age of mists and tears. 
Resolved by the Hght of happier years ! 

HENBY S. COENWELL. 



FUTURITY. 

Oh for fleet wings to fly beyond Death's river. 
Where fond souls wait with longing in their 

eyes, 
Upon the shining strands of Paradise, 
In His glad smiles to bask and Uve forever. 
There rough defiles the green larch-fringes 
sweep ; 



S08 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

There trembling gentian blossoms sweetly 
blow 

Beside cool streams and pure as crystal snow, 
And o'er gray rocks the tender lichens creep. 
Oh, in that blessed day, where is no night, 

No more shaU weary feet the dull earth tread; 

No more we weep beside our loved dead ; 
No need of mists to hide sad tears from sight : 

His cross can reach where holy dust reposes, 

To ope the door that future Ufe discloses. 

J,. Q. B. 



.ra:PTHA AND PHIGENIA. 

Thbee days had passed. 
PmoENiA, daughter fair of Israel's judge," 
Had made the palace ready for her sire. 
And waited his return with longing eyes. 
Her anxious heart, so full of filial love, 
Trembled 'twixt fear of ill and hope of weal. 
She walked ;vith eager steps through palace 

halls, 
Arranged the draperies with graceful touch, 
And when she could no longer wait, for pain. 
She and her maidens started forth in haste, 
And entered soon within fair Mizpeh's walls. 
Just then a breathless messenger came in. 
Saying a bloody battle had been fought, 
A victory won— Jeptha victorious ! 
The maiden's heart now throbbed with joyous 

pride, 
And soon, as from the battlements they gazed. 
The conqueror, with his war-worn retinue, 
Was seen advancing through a distant vale, 
With greatest speed, toward the city gates. 

The people, as if one, with thankful zeal, 
Went out to hail their great deliverer ; 
But, coming near, they stopped with due re- 
spect. 



MISCELLANEOUS FoEMS. 509 

To let the daughter of their prince pass on, 
And greet with loving tenderness her sire. 
Then Jeptha raised his eyes, and with a cry 
Of lamentation and of wild regret. 
Leapt from his horse and rent his warrior-robe, 
Befusing to embrace the one most dear ; 
And, breaking forth in words that seemed re- 
proach : 
"Alas! my child, alas! how cam'st thou here, 
To meet me, and to break your father's heart?" 
Amazed she stood, till finding utterance, ^ 
She thus addressed him with enquiries kind : 
"What grieveth thee, oh, father ? Tell me all. 
Art thou not come with glory and with pride ? 
Has not God blessed thy sword with victory? 
I have come forth to meet thee as before, 
With cymbals and with songs of welcoming. 
To hail thee conqueror of our cruel foe, 
When lo! you hide your face and turn away. 
Say, father, art thou wounded, and in pain ? " 
Silent ho stood, till gaining voice he spake : 
"Wherefore should I not hide my face and 

w<iep? 
Listen, my child : I vowed a vow to God, 
Before the dreadful hour of battle came. 
That if He would deUver to my hand 
Th' opposing army of the mighty foe. 
Then would I gladly sacrifice to Hni 
The first that met me on my coming home!" 
One moment — only one — that fair young head 
Was meekly bowed, as if in silent prayer ; 
Then, looking up, she firmly answered thus : 
"My father, as thou promised, thou must do ! 
Mock not the Lord by keeping not thy vow : 
But let this simple thing be done for me— 
Let me alone for two short months, that I 
May up and down upon the mountains go. 
And with my friends bewail my mournful late." 
He answered, "Go;" and for the time she went ; 
But when th' allotted period had expired, 
With sadness, but submissive, she returned. 



5IO MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

T was after noon ; and with a maiden band, 
Her death-pale brow all wreathed with snow- 
white flowers, 
In innocence and virgin purity, 
Phioenia stepped upon the funeral pile, 
And calmly waited for the fatal hour. 
But Jeptela sank upon the ground with grief, 
And tearfully he prayed to be forgiven ; 
Then turned away, that he might not behold 
The victim that he loved, but could not spare. 
So JEiTHA did according to his vow ; 
And when the sxm had set, his child was dead. 
And long it was a custom in the land, 
To spend the anniversary of the day, 
In lamentation for the lovely girl 
Who died in the redemption of a vow. 

BUTH G. D. HAVENS. 



BY AND BY. 

When the world is all forgot, 
Wo shall rest us, you aud I ; 

The violet and forget-me-not 
There shall bloom ; the buttei-fly 

There shall sun his satin sails. 

In the dying summer gales, 

And there hum the wandering beo 

His fine noontide melody. 

Far away the village bell 

Oft shall thrill th.e throbbing air ; 
But of bridal or of knell. 

Little shall we di-eam or care ; 
While at night the winds shall tell 

Of the dead and how they fare ; 
But we shall not hear their talk. 
Or the ghosts that round us walk. 

When the freezing streamlet grieves, 
And the days are boisterous, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 5II 

3hall the alders drop their leaves, 

Like mute mourners over us ; 
But we shaU not wake or stir, 
At the sighing of the fir, 
Safe from winter's rude alarms, 
Locked in one ano.her's arms. 

By and by, in a little time. 
We shall cross our hands to rest, 

Folded in a trance subhme, 
By the streams that we love best, 

And the far-off world shall seem 

Like a long-forgotten dream. 

While the ages come and go, 

Leaving us together, so. 

HENRY S. CORNWELL, 



DIVEEGENT. 

Since m your heart I am not first— 

Since others are more dear to you ; 
Whatever passion I have nurst 

I wUl forget — both love and you ; 
For my proud heart is bold and strong ; 

The dove of peace will soon return 
And sing its bhthsome carol song ; 

Ah, I will smile, and never mourn. 

And I have wept to see you weep ! 

'Twas when I thought you loved as I ; 
But now, with grief so wild, so deep. 

My tutored heart breathes not a sigh ; 
Ay, it is proudly calm, though sad. 

And stoutly steeled to meet its fate ; 
And if no more comes stmshine glad, 

It will at least be brave and great. 



512 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

I give you back this treasured tress — 

Take it, fair hands from whenee it came ; 
I yet remember scenes of bliss— 

I cannot yield it to the flame. 
Yes, take it back ; I need no gift 

To teach my heart to think of thee ; 
For though each tender tie be rift. 

My life thou art, my destiny ! 

Nor question I of right or wrong ; 

Nay, I have nothing to forgive ; 
I only know my heart's true song 

Shall sing to thee or e'er I Uve. 
I ask but this -that when afar, 

Vain lips shall speak me scorn or blame, 
Your lips at least will such forbear. 

And kindly e'er will name my name. 

L. o. B. 



CK)OD-BY. 

GooD-BT, we sav, and give our dearest blessing, 
E'erwhile the heart is filled with bitter pain ; 

Good by ! the weaknes^s of the soul confessing. 
We feel our strength is impotent and vain. 

Good-by, good by ! alas, the tears are starting ! 

Oh, may He shield and keep you sinless ever; 
Good-by ! warm tears in rivers flow at parting ; 

Trust Him whose love and care shall fail you 
never. 

Good-by, good-by ! Our lips have met in love ! 

Sad is the parting ; but His face draws near ; 
And well we know we meet again above. 

Where His glad smiles wreathe an Eternal 
Year! l. g. b. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 513 



ALCHEMY. 

The way is rough, the clouds are dark above ; 
My locks, once sunlit, now are gray and 

hoary, 
And yet, though sharp the trial, I may glory 
In that I measure all the faith of Love. 
Sorrow hath blanched the roses on my cheek, 

And age thereon hath left its penciled trace, 
While old-time friends crowd round me as to 
speak. 
And in my heart renew their wonted place. 
Ah me, that trust and truth so soon should 
perish ! 
Of freslmess of my youth I am bereft ; 
Of friendship's sunny blossoms none are 
left, 
And flown the memories I was wont to cherish : 
In sorrow grieve I for my weary losses ; 
Heaven only is undimmed with carnal 
drosses. l. g. b. 



MUTE. 

Enteancinq music filled the evening air : 
A tender glance, fond vows said soft and 

low, 
A lingering kiss — with no one near, you 
know ; 
And she was sweet, aye, and divinely fair. 
And then we gently sailed adown the bay. 

In moonht grandeur, underneath the stars ; 
Not motionless but mute— no words they say, 
Our parted lips, beneath heaven's nightly 
bars ; 

65 



514 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

The moon is high, the winds a-wooing go ; 
A kiss she gives, and then a kiss I take. 
For love is hf e— and love is -wide-awake ; 

We two alone — and no one near, you kno n : 
Her glances melt my very soul away. 
While mute our hps— but motionless, ah 
nay ! l, g. k. 



RE-UNITED. 

One loving kiss he gave, one sad good-by, 
One tender look, one gentle, fond caress, 
And then he left me, bathed in wretched- 
ness, 

My sad heart breaking with wild ago ay. 

I saw my Love, in dreams, but yesternight, 
A vision bright from slumbrous moonlit 
lands ; 

The love-gleams glowed from his dark eyes so 
bright, 
A thomless rose he held within h^p hands, 

And then his gentle footsteps softly stept— 
I felt his fond arm steal abou« and fold 
My trembhng form, as was his wont of old, 

While close against my heart he steady crept : 
A dream it seemed, but 'tis a dream no more, 
For he, my Love, is with me as of yore. 

L. O. B. 



ONCE LOVED. 

Leave me but this : 
A tiny, shining wave of severed hair. 

You suiely cannot deem it much amiss 
That I should ask, yea, claim bo small a share 



MISGEI^LANEOUS POEMS. 515 

Of what I love, and part with all the rest, 
When once you would have held me to your 

breast, 
And given worlds on worlds for the sweet 

bhss 
Of knowing that I joyed to rest me there. 

Could I but know 
That when you said you loved me, 't was a lie, 

'T would be more easy then for me to go, 
And breathe no pang into the words Good-by. 
But deeming that when spoken it was true, 
And that since then the change has come to 
you— 
O, darlmg ! let me still beheve it so, 
And with this one, last hope, Ue down and die. 

BUTH G. D. HAVENS. 



IN THE WOOD. 

Six tiny baby ferns cuddling together, 
Where did you come from, you quaint little 
things ? 
Who would e'er guess that you whimsical 
brownies 
Each hid a pair of the daintiest wings ? 

One httle slender stalk gaily upspringing, 
Pushing off bravely the crinkled brown 
leaves ; 

Over the flower-bud he graspeth so tightly 
Sweetest of fancies I ween that he weaves. 

Nesthng most lovingly 'neath an old oak tree, 
Emerald beds of the daintiest moss, 

Is that queer broidery, inwoven here and 
there. 
Fairy-land filagree wrought of green floss ? 



5l6 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Berries of partridge vine, trim little rover, 
Peep at me brightly from rmder the leaves ; 

Never a fit of blues hath the mitcheUa, 
Nothing the brave Mttle heart ever grieves. 

Silvery birches are hanging out tassels, 
Silky gray tassels to welcome the spring ; 

Softly around me red blossoms are falling, 
Carmine-like flakes that the red maples hing. 

Swaying of chestnut trees, gracefully, airily, 
Sifting of sunlight through branches of pine, 

FUckering shadows on boles of the maple, 
Blueness of azure— all these things are 
mine. 

EMMA. M. ATWATEB. 



A WIFE'S VALENTINE. 

A YEAB ago ! how well I yet remember 

The chill and dreary day ! 
Our love, which had been growing since Sep- 
tember, 

Was well nigh swept away. 

A brief, cold word of anger and of chiding, 

Jiike ice had chilled each soul ; 
In cruel bitterness, with fierce deriding, 

We thrust away the whole. 

I will not say that I had ceased to hunger 

For sweetness from your lips ; 
I willTiot say I did not suffer under 

That dreary love-eclipse. 

But in my pride I hid my bitter sorrow ; 

Ah ! foolish woman-way ! 
Wliich only renders double-fold to-morrow 

The woof yesterday. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS $17 

You, in yoTxr anger, stifled every feeling ; 

Your face was like a stone- 
To all my searching glance no sign revealing 

The love it once had sho-vra. 

But yet my feet were treading out the measure 
Of song that breathed your name ; 

In lonely moments, or in whM of pleasure, 
Its burden still the same. 

To tell what came of slow and fierce repenting 

It needeth not a Ime ; 
How pride gave way, and anger was relenting, 

Go ask St. Valentine. 

To-night, the winter stars together smgmg 

Far up in skies above. 
Into my heart one constant note are ringing — 

A. note of joyous love. 

It is a resurrection of devotion, 

A gladsome Easter mom; 
And on the surges of its pure emotion 

These words are clearly borne : 

"Be 'kind, affectionate apd faithful' ever, 

Though weal or wo betide ; 
And whilt our God for aye hath joined to- 
nether. 

Let never man divide." 

A week, a httle week, of dearest glory 

Has crowned my earthly hf e ; 
And oft you whisper all the precious story, 

In the' sweet words, "My wife ! " 

Yours, in life's coldness or its fiery fever ; 

Through good and evil, thine ; 
In Ughts or shadows of this world's forever. 

Your only Valentine. 

RUTH Q. D. HAVENS. 



5l8 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 



MNEMONIC. 

Ah, by-gone days, how strange ye seem ; 
Ye visit me as some dim dream 

SeeB through the maze of dreary days ; 
Ye bring wild sorrows in your train, 
Ye bring wrecked hopes to view again, 

And on wings fleet, fled visions sweet. 

The summer of our love was brief 
As yonder sportive yellow leaf ; 

And gone the light from her dear sight ; 
Our lips met 'neath the mistletoe, 
Her form now lies beneath the snow. 

My heart at last feeJs death's rude blast. 

Oh, by-gone memories, slumber deep, 
For barren is life's waste, and bleak — 

I would be free from Destiny ! 
I glad would sleep 'neath Lethe's stream, 
Ne'er more to see nor shade nor gleam, 

But entombed lie with Memory. 

Be gone, grim spectres, with your train ! 
Let not your restless ghost remain, 

To banish hght from my dim sight ! 
Ah, weird and wild this midnight dream ; 
Morn breaks ; behold its golden gleam ! 

All sadness o'er, joy smiles once more. 
L. a. B. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 5I9 



LAURA. 

Light brown hair, dainty gray eyes, 
Deep and dreaoiy, fixed afar : 

Thoughtful e'er, and oft surprised, 
Bright and radiant as a star ; 

Such is she, our gentle treasure, 

Joying friends beyond all measure. 

All things love this maiden fair ; 
Hushed and charmed the stilly aii' ; 
Zephyrs waft her tribute sweet. 
All the flowers her presence greet ; 
Greenest verdui-e, brightest blossom, 
Wears the earth upon its bosom ; 
Wheresoe'er her footsteps stray, 
Nature strews with flowers the way. 

Glad I bring her pretty posies, 
Hyacinths and dewy roses ; 
Pansies, violets white and blue. 
Like her nature, warm and true ; 
Flowers that perfume all the air. 
Subtle scents of wild ids a briar ; 
Fi-om the holly's ghfctering sheen. 
Wreathe I now a garland green, 
And crown our peerless Mayday Queen. 

L. Or. B. 



ADELLA 

Oh, deeper is she than most subtle art, 
More perfect than the sweetest noon of 

May, 
And soul more constant than the polar day, 

And eyes that mirror true a guileless heart. 



52 O MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Steadfast through all, or be it care or sorrow, 
Or pleasure's guiles, or devastating fears. 

The same to-day, and still the same to-mor- 
row. 
Sharing our laughter, grieving at our tears. 

Sweet angels guard her or in time or place ; 
His Spirit greet her e'er with perfect love, 
And fill her soul with solace from above. 

And shower on her each refreshing grace : 
Night's sUvery moon, and every shining star, 
Attest her virtues from their rounds afar. 

L. O. B. 



INFINITY. 

Ah, sad are they whose longing hps ne'er 
touch, 
While passion's tears and passion's sad, sad 

smUes 
Drift down smooth seas, past unfrequented 
isles, 
And lon-^ hearts waiting, bleed and suffer much. 
Ay, sad the souls that ne'er were moved by 
love — 
That ne'er approached the isles of Paradise — 
That ne'er on amorous coast did rove, 
Or backed 'neath smiling noontide skies. 
O, love that stirs and thi-obs the human breast! 
0, love that passes through death's sullen 

tide!— 
Love that remaineth when all hopes have 
died — 
That ne'er shall put two trusting souls 
apart : 
When we have sailed across death's shoreless 

sea, 
We enter port in blest infinity. l. g. b. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEM8. S^l 



ABNEGATION. 

I WOULD not ask if it were so, 
And yet I knew— I knew too well— 
The link was lost, dissolved the spell ; 

And if by saying Yes, or No, 
I could recall the fateful hour, 

Unravel all its tangled webs, 
Eedeem again my forfeit dower, 
And find once more my vanished power, 

Kenew to hfe the love that ebbs, 
Though sick to death with hope deferred, 
I would not let my soul be stirred 
To utter such a fatal word : 

Kather from thy dear face I 'd flee. 

Than do this wrong to thee and me. 

EUTH a. D. HAVENS. 



WHEN I AM DEAD. 

Theee will come a day, my darhng, be it far 
or be it near, 

Be it when the snows are falling, or in rose- 
time of the year. 

But the day is surely coming, when your little 
feet shall tread, 

Where you read my name and story, as a rec- 
ord of the dead. 

It may be a tale of sorrow, it may be a tale of 
shame. 

And it may be told with pity, or it may be told 
with blame ; 

But your thought will wander backward to the 
day of its beginning, 

And your voice will whisjer kindly, "Far 
more sinned against than sinning." 
66 



522 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 

And perchance a tear in falling shall refresh 
the tangled vine, 

That, in nature's silent pity, round my unkept 
grave shall twine. 

So may God deal with you gently, as you gen- 
tly deal with me. 

When you stand where I am lying, xmdemeatb 
a cypress tree. 

RUTH G. D. HAVENS. 



A DREAM. 

I DREAMED that I lay icy-cold and dead ; 
And yet I knew that at my coffin's head 
He stood, and wept hot tears upon my face. 
And clasped my neck with passionate em- 
brace. 
And sobbed, and said aloud, "My wife, my 

wife I " 
The words that I had longed for all my life, 
And prayed him oft to utter, but in vain ; 
Yet now I heard them o'er and o'er again, 
And all my icy heart grew warm to know 
That at the last he loved to call me so. 

I wakened from that strange sweet dream at 

mom, 
To meet again indifference and scorn ; 
To feel a maddening passion's fire and chill. 
And fail to meet one warm, responsive thrill ; 
To plead for tenderness from one unmoved 
By prayers or tear s^— to live a wife unloved ; 
And yet to hold a sacred, secret faith 
That when this longing life gives way to death, 
His tears will fall upon my pallid brow, 
His lips will speak the words they will not now, 
The void of all my life be filled at last, 
And thus the bitterness of death be passed. 

BUTB a. D. HAVENS. 



SaiSCKLLANKOUS POEMS. 523 



M^NIVERSARY— [August 10.] 

As HOUSEWIVES lay away their linen rare, 
Folded and smoothed and pressed with tender 

care, 
And strewed and scented with the faint per- 
fume 
Of rose leaves, and of mignonette's pale 

bloom — 
A fragrant, snowy pile — and now and then 
Ee touch and press each scented fold again, 
So we, dear sisters, hold this summer day, 
Which in our hearts is folded close away, 
Though handled oft and oft with reverent 

touch — 
For -all the year can give no other such— 
A white, pure treasure, softly laid aside. 
With fragrant memories of him who died — 
Our own hearts' dearest, and our household's 

best, 
Most loved on earth, in heaven earliest blest. 

fiUTH G. D. HAVENS, 



FREED. 

I WILL not say if yet my heart 

Has wholly changed to ice or stone, 
Or if it might be roused to start 

A quicker throb than it has known ; 
It warms not to your glance : enough 

For you to know, or think, or care, 
That it is made of better stuff 

Thau e'er to soften at your prayer : 
You ne'er again can bring an ache 
To the poor heart you thought to break, 

BUTH 0» D. HAVEN3. 



524 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



A P A K T. 

We started gftily, hand in hand, 
And Love walked with us, on our way ; 

And in a bright, enchanted land, 
We passed onr early, happy day. 

But though I proudly would have 8wom 
Naught could have parted him and me, 

We are as far asunder torn 
As Southern shore and Arctic sea. 

Our hearts, that fondly beat as one, 
Have changed their tune, and lost the key ; 

And hves that blent in unison 
Now find no note of harmony. 

BUTH O. D. HATENS. 



YOU ASK ME WHY. 

You ask me why I weep ! 
You look into my face, and dare to say^- 
Laughing meanwhile, "Why is that sigh so 
deep ? " 
You ask me why I turn my eyes away— 
You ask me why ! 

You ask me why I cease 
To smile my old, glad smile, and sing the song 

I used to sing, in days not long agone. 
When all my heart was stayed in perfect peace; 
You ask me why ! 

You ask me why I grieve ! 
You do not know that I have made a grave, 

And buried there what I had hoped lo enTe ; 
And if I tell you, you will not believe, 

But ask me why I 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 525 

You ask me why I sit 
And ponder o'er the present, future, past ; 
As if your fickle heart could well forget 
What lingers in my memory to the last : 
You ask me why ! 

You ask me why ! — and when 
I tell you, in a language plain and true. 
That you once loved me, and that I loved 
you, 
Yo\i smile a sneering smile, and say, "What 
then?" 
You ask me why ! 

You ask me why, until 
I hate you ; and I hate myself the most ; 

That I have lost my olden power of wiU, 
My pride, and everything I used to boast, 

And told you why. 

BtJTH a. J>. HAVENS. 



TOO LATE. 

Snfi is dead ! 

And above her head, 
Grows the grass, green and rank, 
On the narrow bank. 

Dry your tears ! 

Though they flow for years, 
Like the fast summer rain, 
They will how in vain. 

Once 't were well 

If a tear had f eU, 
For the wrong thou had'st done 
To the sleeping one. 



526 MISCELLANEOUS POEMB. 

How she loved 

All her hfe-time proved. 
'T was on your blind neglect 
That her bark was wrecked. 



Now, too late, 

Yon are blaming fate. 
But the work is your own, 
Bear its fruits ^loue : 
You alone bred the curse, 
Take it home to nurse. 

BUTH O. D. HAVENS. 



MOTHEB. [May 4.] 

Who shall bring violets to thee to-day— 
Those starry eyes, dropped from the azure 

sky? 

Who shall be mmdful of the Fourth of May— 
Of old the best-loved anniversary ? 

Who shall explore the borders of the stream 
That flows adown the gently-sloping hill, 

To find those bits of blue amid the green, 
And keep the day iu fragrant memory still ? 

I waft to tbee the breath of tenderest love. 
That bloometh sweetest when untrained 
and wild ; 
And make these lines my fleet-winged carrier- 
dove, 
To bear to thee the greetings of thy child. 

KUTH G. D. HAVENS. 



THE ANARCHIAD. 527 



TII£ AXARCHIAD : 

A New England Satire, written in con- 
cert by David Humphreys, Joel Bar- 
low, John Trumbull, and Dr. Lemuel 
Hopkins. Edited, with Notes and Ap- 
pendices, by Luther G. Riggs. New 
Haven : Published by Thomas H. 
Pease. 1861. i6mo. Price 50 cents. 

This is the first and only publication, in 
book form, of these eminent satires. The 
North American Keview noticed the volume at 
considerable length, on its appearance in 1861, 
and the publication is twice referred to in Al- 
libone's Dictionary of American Authors. 

Says the New Englander : In addition to be- 
ing a hterary curiosity, The Anarchiad is de- 
eervhig of special attention by all who are 
turnii g their attention anew to the time when 
those same political questions with regard to 
the natme of our federal government, which 
we are now discussing, were debated with even 
more of heat and acrimony than at the pres- 
ent junctui-e. 

Says the New Haven Palladium : Mr Riggs 
has very opportunely brought out The Anarch- 
iad, and it will be favorably received by the 
numerous admirers of the genius and loyalty 
of the eminent bards of Connecticut who 
thrived and wrote in the last quarter of the 
eighteenth centuiy. Ifc exerted great influ- 
ence upon the popular mind at the time when 
it was written, and tended in no shght degree 
to check the leaders of insubordinacion and 
r«jbellion. 



538 THE ANARCH1AJ>. 

Says Appleton's Encyclopedia : This work 
alone is sufficient to immortalize the names of 
its illustrious authors, who were among the 
best-known poets ol our revolution. 

Says the Hartford Courant : The Anarchiad 
was famous in its day, and Hartford was its 
birth-place —the "wits of Hartford" being its 
fathers. The satire is well remembered here. 

Norwich Bulletin : Mr Rigqs has done well 
in reproducing The Anaichiad. It is a noblj 
productiou by the a- cient patriot-poets of 
Connecticut. Peculiarly adapted to the pres- 
ent exigencies, it is a volume which no patriot 
should fail of reading. 

New Haven Covu-ier : It is a patriotic, na- 
tional poem, and weU fitted for the perusal of 
all loyal readers in this period of anarchy. 

Hertford Evening Press : The poem is a 
bitter satire on the lawlessness and folly of 
the times, and contains many noble appeals 
for the Union. 

New York Independent : The Anarchiad is 
a series of poUtical satii'es by the Connecticut 
wits, in the form of extracts from an imagi- 
nary epic poem. It is often named in histories 
of our hterature, but ha-* never until now 
been published in a collected form. 

Bridgeport Standard : The little vo'ume is 
worthy of very general distribution. 

Waterbury American : Many years have 
©lapsed since we have read the poem, but we 
have a keen sense of its cutting satire, when 
readiug it in our earher days. 



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